


P.O.W.

by Avaaricious



Series: Meet-Ugly [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes is an amazing Sergeant, Bucky and Steve didn't grow up together, Bucky swears a lot, Hurt Bucky Barnes, M/M, Mother Hen Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve growing into his role, The opposite of meet-cute, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 22:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6395947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avaaricious/pseuds/Avaaricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA the "You're strapped to a table in a lab and I've come to rescue you, but you think you're hallucinating and kiss me" AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	P.O.W.

**Author's Note:**

> *EDITED: My formatting went screwy and this had no italics anywhere! I've now corrected it. Because I'm addicted to emphasising words. Yes.
> 
> So this is decidedly less fluffy than Fan the Flame, and I'm sorry! FtF actually interrupted me finishing this one. (btw, i'm working on more of that. watch this space)
> 
> This fic takes a lot of cues from the graphic novel 'Captain America: First Vengeance', in the descriptions of Bucky's physical condition, the particular regiments the Howling Commandoes belong to, and some events that happened during Bucky's incarceration before Steve got there. I made up a lot of shit, too, so if you find errors, I apologise! I also have some notes on the logistics of the journey from Kreischberg back to base at the end. 
> 
> Sarah once again knocked this completely out of the park. I would never finish anything to the standard I do without her invaluable input. You're solid gold. <3
> 
> This is the fic from this series most rooted in canon (with one notable exception), I'd dearly love to know what you think. Comments are rad, man. You'd make my absolute day. <3

It's reckless, and it's foolhardy, but Steve can't think of a better way to really test the limits of his new body, by making his way thirty miles into enemy territory to break out a bunch of American soldiers that have been captured.

 

He tries not to grin, but it's hard.

 

This is what he'd been _dreaming_ about, back in Brooklyn. Fighting bad guys, saving people. Making his dad proud by rescuing his old unit.

 

He's tired of being the performing monkey on tour.

 

Senator Brandt sees him as a cash cow and a precious asset.

 

Colonel Phillips sees him as a chorus girl.

 

Howard Stark sees him as a science experiment.

 

Peggy Carter sees-- well, he's not quite sure, but she sees something in him. Something _more_ than what the others do...

 

And it's enough to risk her own neck helping him with this incredibly foolish mission.

 

Steve shakes his head to get the thoughts out. He can't afford to get distracted now, he's already hitched a ride in a truck directly into the HYDRA facility, and it's time to focus.  

 

Shield gripped firmly in his hand, transponder in the pocket of his jacket, Steve readies himself. He creeps up on the scattered, patrolling soldiers and disposes of them as quickly and as quietly as he can, making his way past lines of enemy tanks and into the commanding HYDRA facility.

 

It looks like something out a science fiction comic, with its imposing edifice and searchlights cutting through the black night. Steve's steps only falter for a moment before he surges ahead.

 

Getting inside turns out to be as easy as walking to the front door. Knocking the guard out, Steve slips inside, quietly marvelling at his stealth and coordination. These things would've been so handy to've had in Basic. Then again, maybe he wouldn'tve been chosen by Dr Erskine if that had been the case.

 

There are trays of strange objects that glow in an unholy, blue light. He picks one of the more inoffensive ones up and studies it briefly, before pocketing it for Stark.

 

The path he's on leads into a larger room with walkways criss-crossing it. Between them and down below are large, circular cages where men sit, quiet and despondent. It feels like a modern dungeon.

 

For such a large room with so many prisoners, there's only one guard patrolling the area. Obviously, HYDRA are pretty confident about their defences.

 

Steve knocks the guard out; the only sound his fist making contact with the man's jaw, and his heavy thump on the roof of one of the cages. The four men inside instantly stand and give him their full attention. They look tired and worn out.

 

Searching the prone guard for keys, he hits paydirt in the man's trousers.

 

The black man in the garrison cap gives him a suspicious look, even as Steve still scouts for anyone approaching his position. "Who are you supposed to be?" he asks.

 

"I'm--" Steve ponders what to answer, before going with the most obvious choice. "Captain America."

 

"I... beg your pardon?" The man in the red beret and obvious British accent asks incredulously.

 

Jumping off the roof of the cage, Steve bends his knees to cushion his landing. There are a few keys on the large ring he lifted from the guard, but only one seems to be long enough to fit into the lock of the cage.

 

Trying it, Steve gets the lock open. He notices that there's a broad mix of men here; different uniforms and ethnicities, but all with one thing in common. They're all Allied military. HYDRA has been capturing soldiers and putting them to work long before targeting the 107th.

 

After the second cage is open, one of the prisoners takes the keys and moves down the line opening the rest of the cells. There's no mad rush for the door, no stampede or otherwise panicked behaviour. All of the men seem to realise the best chance they have of getting out of the factory is to not let HYDRA know they've gotten out until too late. There is low level hushed excitement as the soldiers begin to move.

 

The men from the cage closest to the door, as well as a man that looks distinctly Japanese, form up around him. For the first time in his life, Steve feels like he's in charge. He actually _feels_ like a Captain. His spine straightens automatically.

 

"Is there anyone else?" he asks directly. His goal is to free as many captured soldiers as he possibly can; he'd hate to leave a group of them behind if he can help it.

 

"There's an isolation ward in the factory, but no-one's ever come back from there," the Brit -- who'd introduced himself as Falsworth -- answers.

 

"The Sarge got taken there. We should try and get him out," the redheaded Corporal in the bowler hat says.

 

"Most of the men didn't last three days in there, let alone two weeks," Falsworth answers. "He's probably--"

 

The Corporal spares a baleful glare at Falsworth. "Barnes is tough as nails. He ain't dead."

 

Steve notices Falsworth's lips tighten, brow furrowing. It's an expression he's eminently familiar with; the Englishman is trying to let Dugan down as gently as the circumstances will allow.

 

"You know he already had pneumonia when they brought him in. It's rather unlikely the Nazis are treating him for it." The line is pragmatic, but delivered as gently as possible given the circumstances. Dugan steps forward with one fist clenched so tight it's white-knuckled, but Falsworth doesn't back away. "How do you think he's holding up under these conditions?"

 

"Better'n you, if you keep running your mouth." Dugan's moustache twitches and Steve steps between them. He can't afford for the prisoners to start a brawl that will alert HYDRA to their situation too early.

 

Dugan looks up into Steve's face, still bristling. "The tree line is northwest, eighty yards past the gate. Get out fast and give 'em hell." Steve's hardened voice softens just a little. "I'll meet you guys in the clearing with anyone else I find... after I check out the isolation ward."

 

Dugan's tight jaw unclenches slightly and he nods once, taking a step back.

 

"Wait, do you even know what you're doing?" the black soldier asks him again.

 

Steve gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Yeah. I've knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times." He knows how ridiculous it sounds, but the entire fact he's there at all is completely screwy, so it seems to fit the circumstances.

 

Without sparing them another glance, Steve jogs down the corridor and leaves the soldiers, trusting them to find their way out. He's still got a job to do.

 

Sharp sounds of machine gun fire cuts through the air, then silences, only to return louder. The sounds of chaos begin to build and spur him forward as he makes his way across the factory, stopping every few moments to engage (and defeat) another HYDRA soldier.

 

The prisoners are taking to their captors with gusto, and the alarm has well and truly been raised.

 

The factory is one of the biggest places Steve has ever _seen._ It's a mess of corridors and walkways, all looking startlingly the same. He runs past weapon after weapon after weapon, the realisation hitting that if this is but one of HYDRA's facilities, the SSR has possibly underestimated how powerful Schmidt's organisation has become. Steve grits his teeth together. It makes it all the more important to try and put _this_ one out of commission.

 

Steve stops running into soldiers after a while -- most probably trying to deal with the escaped Allies -- but he also doesn't run into any further prisoners. He's not even completely sure he's headed in the right direction.

 

Rounding a corner, he sees a sign on a brick wall; _Isolierstation_. The brick corridors are dank and stink of chemicals and piss. He slows to a walk, unsure of what he might find here.

 

Turning left, Steve finds a corridor with dark, closed doors. There is one open, spilling a lurid yellow-green light onto the floor. A small man in a hat, carrying his coat and a leather satchel bursts out of the room. It only takes a moment for Steve to recognise him from Erskine's SSR files as Arnim Zola.

 

Zola sees Steve, eyes widening comically before rabbiting off down the corridor.

 

Steve gives chase for a few paces, but Zola disappears around a corner. He could try and find him, or he could continue his search for other prisoners. Remembering the look on Dugan's face, Steve doesn't want to go back out there and admit that he hasn't done his level best to try and recover _everyone_. They might not all make it out of here, but he'll do is damned best to make sure they all had at least has a fighting chance.

 

So instead of pursuing Zola, he ducks into the vacated room.

 

It reminds him somewhat of the facility under Brooklyn where he was subjected to the serum and the Vita Rays, only it's a lot scarier. And that's really saying something.

 

Large devices hanging overhead all point towards a single metal bench. Wires and tubes run along the sides and into strange-looking machines beside it.

 

And he hears it.

 

"Barnes... James... Sergeant... 32557038... Barnes... James..."

 

The voice is raw and weak, and Steve's blood goes cold. Running over to the table, he finds a young man strapped to it, possibly no older than himself.

 

Sickly green light illuminates gaunt features with old injuries. The left sleeve of his ratty olive drab sweater is pulled up to his bicep, the veins standing out in relief against his skin. Puncture wounds litter the sensitive area on the inside of his elbow, and Steve wants to throw up just a little bit.

 

His eyes are glazed over, staring unseeing at the ceiling. "Sergeant Barnes?" Steve questions, looking for a way to free him. Barnes flinches at the name, causing Steve to wince in sympathy. He's probably been addressed like that by the good doctor. Steve needs to differentiate himself from Zola and any other HYDRA personnel that have been in contact with this man if he's going to get them both out of here.  

 

Pulling at one of the restraints around the man's legs, Steve snaps the buckles with little effort. "James?" he tries instead, hoping for a better reaction.

 

That does it, somehow. Barnes flicks his gaze to Steve's face, brow furrowing slightly, though he doesn't lose the unfocused look to his eyes.

 

"Who the hell are you?" he asks, and Steve can't blame his confusion. It's probably been weeks since he's seen anyone but that rat, Zola.

 

"I'm--" Steve pauses, unsure of what to say. He snaps the buckles around James' arms. "I'm a Captain in the US Army.

 

"Captain?" Barnes mumbles, rolling the word around in his mouth, as Steve snaps the restraints pinning James' arms and torso to the table.

 

"That's right, soldier. I'm going to get you out of here." He hauls Barnes up into a sitting position on the table. "My name's Steve. Steve Rogers." He adds it in the hope that it'll make him a good option to James' drug-addled mind. Any help the impaired man can give him to either physically make his way out of the facility, or direct him out, would be a godsend at this time.  

 

A slightly befuddled, dopey smile crosses James' lips.

 

"Steve," he murmurs like a benediction, and Steve is gratified it doesn't produce a negative reaction. "Steve," Barnes says again, as Steve bodily lifts him to his feet.

 

The man is slighter than Steve would've expected, probably from malnutrition and the terrible things he's suffered at the hands of Zola. Another lifetime ago, Steve used to have trouble taking a small box from the grocer's up to his second-floor Brooklyn apartment. Now he lugs a full-grown man around like a rag doll.

 

He grips Barnes by the shoulders and looks searchingly in his eyes for a moment. They're not what he would call lucid, so Steve cups the side of Barnes' face briefly, slightly lifting one eyelid with his thumb. James' pupil does react to the light, just barely.

 

"We need an exit," he mutters, glancing around the lab. Directly next door to the equipment is a small office, the contents of which seem to have been upended. There's a map on the wall, markers of what he assumes are other HYDRA facilities pinned into certain locations.

 

Steve scrutinises it for a few moments. He's always been good at learning anything with a visual aid, but since the serum, he's found that his memory is sharper than ever. A good look is all he needs, trusting the new version of his brain to recall those details later if they get out of here.

 

When. _When_ they get out of here.

 

He turns back to Barnes, who is still looking at him a little dreamily, before wrapping his hands around the back of Steve's head and planting one right on his lips.

 

Steve freezes, too surprised to move. Barnes' lips are so very dry and chapped, but they are very soft underneath. It has been a while since Steve has been kissed, and it's rarely been this raw and impassioned. The man still isn't too steady on his feet, so when he stumbles a little trying to get closer, Steve's arms instinctively go around his waist.

 

Barnes smiles into his mouth. "That's it," he murmurs, and oddly enough, _that_ is what shakes Steve out of his stupor.

 

Pulling back, Steve's eyes focus on the blissful expression on the face of the man before him, the heavily lidded eyes and too-red lips. Barnes makes a noise of disappointment when he pulls away.

 

"James--" he starts.

 

"Bucky," Barnes exhales, trying to chase Steve's lips with his own. "Call me Bucky."

 

Steve's hands go from around Barnes' waist, to holding him up by his shoulders. Squeezing firmly -- but not so tight as to hurt him, Steve meets Barnes' eyes.

 

"Bucky, what are you doing?"

 

Barnes gives him the once-over with a slightly irritated expression. "Trying to kiss you. I swear, none of my other hallucinations were this fucking chatty."

 

"Hallucination?" Steve repeats like a parrot. Barnes' voice is rough, but Steve can imagine in another situation, it'd be sweet and thick. There's something in his drawl that pulls at the blond's heart through his stomach, drips molasses down his spine.

 

Under the malnutrition, fading bruises and dirt, Barnes is attractive in a clearly obvious way. He's the sort of man that Steve would've looked at out of the corner of his eye in the dance halls at home, as he sat being a wallflower.

 

But he's not at home. He's in Austria in an enemy factory with a fire fight going on outside.

 

Barnes rolls his eyes. "Never had to explain a dream to the dreamboat before. C'mere." He gets the chance to make contact with Steve's mouth one more time before Steve pulls away.

 

"This is really not the time nor the place--" Steve tries to explain, before an explosion and gunfire from close by grab both of their attention.

 

The sound of the blast seems to snap Barnes out of his stupor, his eyes taking on a sharper quality. The flirtatious expression on his face melts away, to be replaced with dawning horror. He whips his hands away from the back of Steve's neck, and Steve lets go of his shoulders, allowing Barnes to step out of his grip.

 

"You're not a dream?" he asks in a shaky voice.

 

"I'm your rescue party," Steve gives a self-deprecating shrug, before another explosion rocks the corridor. Bits of cement and dust fall from the top of ceiling. It spurs Steve into action. "We've got to get outta here!" He gestures for the door, taking a few steps towards it. Barnes tries one step, and stumbles, and Steve feels bad. The man has just been unstrapped from a gurney; he can't be expected to run.

 

He grabs Barnes' shoulders once again, only this time it's not a gentle movement. He supports most of Barnes' weight out of the lab, though Barnes makes some vague effort to use his legs.

 

They make it back into the corridors, and Steve chooses to take the path Zola did, figuring the sketchy man wasn't going to be heading _towards_ danger.

 

Searchlights shine through the sporadic windows, illuminating dirty brick and abandoned crates.

 

It takes a good thirty feet, but Barnes is finally able to move unaided by Steve, pushing the blond man away from him. He's not the steadiest on his feet, hunched and stumbling occasionally, but Steve guesses that him being mobile is at least a decent sign. Besides, Steve has bigger things to worry about, like how to get out of the factory, through the fighting, and meet up with the rest of the Allies in a safe zone.

 

"Who'd you say you were again?" Bucky asks as he stumbles behind Steve, trying to keep up.

 

Steve gives Barnes a quick glance over his shoulder. His face is pale under the dirt and healing bruises. "Steve Rogers," he answers. The name shouldn't ring a bell with Barnes; goodness knows the combined forces of the SSR and Senator Brandt have currently deemed his identity classified, so his name hasn't actually reached any newspapers or the wireless, to his knowledge.

 

"And you're a Captain," Barnes persists. "What regiment you with?"

 

"Which way?" Steve cuts the question off in a clipped tone. They've reached a T-junction and he's not sure which way to go.

 

Barnes looks at the junction, brows drawing into a frown, as though trying to recall exactly where he is. "Right," he answers presently, gesturing with two fingers. "Through munitions, across the gantry."

 

"Can you keep up?" Steve asks, setting a blistering pace for someone who's just been rescued from certain torture.

 

Barnes sneers at him, even as he trips over his own feet a little. "I'm from the busiest city in the world, pal. Of course I can keep up." As if to prove himself, Barnes pushes himself that little bit further, shortening the distance between them.

 

And that tug Steve feels pulls at him _again_ , like a fishhook stuck in his gut.

 

"New York?" Steve asks with a note of hope as they reach the bottom of a flight of stairs, though deep down he already knows. He had heard the drawl in the frustrated words after Barnes had tried to kiss him again, unsuccessfully.

 

"Brooklyn born and bred," Barnes answers, doing his best to take two steps at a time, to keep up with Steve. He does so, but only by gripping the railing heavily and half-hauling himself up for every pace, grunting with exertion. Quietly, Steve's heart soars, even as the same time he feels unfathomably homesick. 

 

"Me too," Steve says, as they stumble up four flights of stairs. Barnes gives him a quick look, the frown that had settled between his brows diminishing somewhat.

 

Steve's train of thought abruptly returns to their surroundings when they reach the top platform. The entire room is in flames, and it's only a matter of time before the ammunition starts to heat up or catch alight and start exploding. This is a dangerous place to be in, but escape lies at the other end of the long walkway.

 

Steve gets to the walkway first, and stops as two figures exit the elevator doors on the opposite platform. Barnes makes it to the platform and grasps the handrails for support, looking over to also observe the other men. Steve recognises Schmidt from Dr Erskine's descriptions of him, while Barnes clearly sees Zola simpering in Schmidt's shadow, his spine stiffening.

 

Schmidt saunters out onto the walkway. "Captain America!" He greets with what sounds like genuine enthusiasm. "How exciting! I am a great fan of your films."

 

Steve catches Barnes out of the corner of his eye, breaking eye contact with Zola for the first time since they climbed onto the platform, to bore holes into the side of his face with the intensity of his stare. " _'Captain America'_?" Steve hears Barnes mutter incredulously over the crackle-pop of the fires that burn beneath them. Steve wants to cringe in embarrassment, but this is not the time. Instead, he pulls himself up taller, squaring his shoulders.  

 

Schmidt heads out to the centre of the walkway, still talking, and Steve walks out to meet him.

 

As with so many bullies Steve has known over his lifetime, Schmidt swaggers, his arrogance displayed plainly for all to see. But one thing is always the same with bullies; when confronted with strength, they turn into cowards. And Steve has no problem punching said coward in the face.

 

However, is where he finds a big difference. Huge, even.

 

Schmidt's version of Erskine's serum, no matter what faults it contains, still makes the man unnaturally strong. Definitely strong enough to push Steve back, and leave four finger indents in his shield from a powerful punch.

 

They exchange words, though Steve is hardly paying attention to the content. He loses his pistol over the side of the walkway, and scores a solid kick to the chest that sends him flying back.

 

Zola pulls a lever, separating the walkway before he can right himself and go on the offensive once again.

 

Something in Schmidt's face just hasn't sat right since Steve punched him, and all is to be horrifyingly revealed in a few moments.

 

"No matter what lies Erskine told you, you see, I was his greatest creation!"

 

And with that, Schmidt proceeds to tear the skin right off his face.

 

Steve cringes. It's utterly horrific what lies beneath... red bone, or skin, or muscle, he's just not sure.

 

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Barnes blasphemes with a tremor in his voice. Steve flicks him a look, noting the expression of disgust on his likely matches his own.

 

Schmidt pontificates a little more before he and Zola depart through the elevator with an ease that stinks of arrogance.

 

With only one lever for the walkway on the opposite side to them, Steve needs another exit, and _fast_.

 

The munitions below begin to explode with gusto, Steve holding up his USO prop shield automatically. His eyes stray to another set of doors on the next level up. While there's no walkway, there is a large scaffold that could work.

 

He looks to Barnes, who has seen it at exactly the same time. There's a desperate fire burning in his eyes, a need to get out of this factory.

 

A need for them _both_ to escape this.

 

"Come on, let's go." Steve breaks the chain running over the entrance to the stairs. "Up." Half-hauling Barnes up the stairs before he takes the lead again, Steve bounds up the flight easily. He reaches the upper level and waits a few precious moments for Barnes to catch up behind him. The man is fatiguing, but still pushing through as far as he can.

 

The gantry is not as wide as he would hope, but it's possible to get across. "Let's go, one at a time." Steve gives Barnes a little push forward, before assisting him to climb over the railing.

 

Steve grips the handrail anxiously. The explosions are worsening, and Barnes isn't hugely steady on his feet, but somehow he makes it onto the scaffold and begins gingerly shuffling across. An inexplicable surge of admiration for this stranger wells up in him, that he keeps fighting tenaciously despite the obstacles that have been thrust before them.

 

All Steve can do is watch and hope the structure supports him.

 

His heart leaps into his throat as the metal groans, tipping precariously. Barnes' arms are out for balance, but there's no way the beam is going to hold him much longer.

 

The gantry shakes and bolts pop out of the end.

 

 _Jump_ , Steve mentally screams, leaning over the railing, _Jump now!_

 

Barnes, having reached the majority of the way across the chasm, crouches and makes a leap onto the other side. He grips the railing and pulls himself up, while Steve exhales a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. There are finger marks in the railing where Steve squeezed it in anticipation.

 

If nothing else, Barnes' chances of getting out of the factory have at least improved. If he can just reach the other Allies, he'll be safe.

 

Turning around, Barnes dusts his hands off and catches Steve's eye. Barnes looks at him with elation that he's reached the other side, but it doesn't last for long. His expression crumbles from pride to devastation in the space of a mere few seconds, as he realises the situation.

 

Steve's lips tighten, but he holds himself high. He already knows.

 

The way they came in is now blocked by fire, there's no other exit he can make out. It's the way of things. The beam would've never supported both him and Barnes at the same time, and there would never have been a question about sending the Sergeant to safety first.

 

He supposes that if his first mission is also going to be his last, at least he gave as good as he got.

 

"There's gotta be a rope or something!" Barnes yells frantically to him, casting desperate eyes around their immediate area. The fire beneath them is getting higher and licking at the platform. Steve can feel it near-scorching his cheeks.

 

"Just go!" he yells. If anyone gets out of here, it deserves to be Barnes. "Get out of here!"

 

Barnes slams his hands on the railing, righteous anger burning hotter than the fire beneath them both. " _No!_ Not without you!"

 

Steve is taken aback at the ferocity. He doesn't know this man, only that Corporal Dugan thinks him worthy to rescue. Only that he has survived weeks in a place others only survived days.

 

Only that even now, he refuses leave anyone behind.

 

And if that's the case, maybe it's worth it to try something. _Anything._

 

Steve has an idea. It's a fucking stupid idea, but it's the only one he's got.

 

He remembers how far he jumped while chasing the HYDRA agent that killed Dr Erskine. And considering his choices are 'die on the platform' or 'die attempting to jump to the other platform', Steve figures he doesn't have anything to lose.

 

Bending one of the bars away from the edge to give himself a clean path, Steve backs up as much as he possibly can, which isn't far. He winces at what he's about to do, which is incredibly reckless and foolhardy -- and that's exactly what got him into this position _in the first place_ \-- but tries all the same.

 

Steve puts some speed on, and runs for the flaming chasm like a fucking idiot. He feels his new leg muscles propel him forward and out, pinwheeling his arms in an attempt to keep his momentum up.

 

The flames beneath him surge, and Steve feels them flick over the soles of his boots. They even come up as far as his motorcycle jacket, scorching holes and shredding the brown leather.

 

He's sailing towards the platform, towards Barnes' wide eyes and outstretched hands, and Steve instinctively knows he's not going to make it. At least, not the whole way.

 

Steve's going to miss the railing by a matter of inches.

 

It's not that this new body isn't amazing, and it's not that he hasn't jumped as far as he could, it's just the distance is too great. His lungs cease working for a moment, like they used to before the procedure, fear stealing his breath.

 

And he tries not to feel fatalistic in those moments, dwelling on a near miss, but he's at least he's tried. At least Barnes has a fighting chance to get out.

 

Time slows down as he descends close -- so very close -- to the platform. If he's lucky, he may even be able to brush his fingers over the railings, but not be close enough to hold on. Still, he reaches out and--

 

A grip of iron snags around his forearm, and Steve's flight is abruptly stopped. And not by the ground, as expected. Steve's gaze snaps up in wonder.

 

Barnes has somehow half-leant over the side of the railing and grabbed his arm. It's enough to get him to the other side, though he smashes his solar plexus into the bottom of the walkway at speed, winding him.

 

Barnes huffs out a breath as well, as his body is pulled down against the railing due to Steve's weight. Getting his bearings, Steve wraps his hand around Barnes' forearms in a monkey grip, the other finding the railing cross bar. He looks up at Barnes, whose forehead pulses at the effort of holding onto Steve.

 

"Thanks for not leaving me hanging," Steve says as he swings his lower body onto the walkway. Barnes doesn't let go, instead pulling him steadily onto the platform with no small mount of effort.

 

Barnes sneers at him, though it seems mainly derived from the sudden effort of supporting all two hundred odd pounds of Steve for a few seconds, his breathing laboured. "Didn't expect to have to save your ass, you fucking punk. And Jesus H. _Christ_ you weigh a god-damn ton."

 

The words are harsh, but their delivery isn't quite so. Barnes eyes are glittering with a recognisable adrenalin rush, full-lipped mouth curved up in the corner.

 

"You don't have to be a jerk about it," Steve says, panting a little himself, but in slightly better condition than Barnes, who leans against Steve to catch his breath. "Come on, let's get outta here." He puts his arm under Barnes', helping him out of the double doors.

 

"This is the worst rescue I've ever had," Barnes mutters.  Steve can't help laughing a little. Despite everything, he's pretty sure war zones aren't meant to be funny. Barnes joins in a quiet chuckle, and some of the frostiness Steve's been on the receiving end of since the laboratory melts away.

 

Barnes remembers enough about the compound to guide them both outside the building. The corridors inside the factory are deserted; all the HYDRA personnel seem to have evacuated. Perhaps they've escaped, perhaps they're fighting the freed prisoners.

 

From there, it's just making their way through the chaos that is the yards. Barnes is mostly able to keep up with him now, only lagging a pace or two behind him.

 

The munitions yard is in ruins. There's still some scattered fighting happening, but by and large, HYDRA foot soldiers have been surprised and beaten down by the escaping prisoners. There are plenty of bodies in black leather and full face masks littering the compound, but so too are the remains of some of the Allied prisoners that he'd set free.

 

Worse still are the many scorch marks on the ground, where the blue energy weapons of the HYDRA soldiers don't deem it necessary to even leave bodies.

 

Steve looks at the compound in growing revulsion. He's seen bodies before, but nothing like this. When he slows down a little, he feels a push to his back, compelling him forward. Steve glances at Barnes, eyes large with dismay and burning with questions.

 

"Keep moving, pal. This is war," Barnes tells him.

 

All at once, Steve is ashamed for wanting so badly to be here, at war. The expression on Barnes' face is hard and weary and so very sad.

 

He's obviously seen this so many times already.

 

To be able to live what he's gone through and keep moving when all Steve wants to do is hunker in and weep at the waste... Barnes must be the strongest person he's ever met. Steve has to learn how to do this if he's going to get these soldiers back to safety.

 

A few stray HYDRA soldiers are still in the area, but Steve takes out two by cracking their skulls together. Barnes tackles a third that tries to sneak up on Steve, taking him to the ground before bludgeoning the soldier with the butt of the rifle he carried. Barnes' face changes when he has the strap of the rifle slung around his shoulders. He looks comfortable and deadly.  

 

Steve ducks down into cover behind a tank, to feel around for his compass. He has to make sure they're headed in the right direction to rendezvous with the remaining Allies. He finds it, but also makes another unpleasant discovery.

 

"Damn," he says regretfully, pulling out a mangled mess of plastic and metal from his inner jacket pocket.

 

Crouching next to him, Barnes flicks his eyes to the broken device, before going back to scan their surroundings. "What's that?" he asks.

 

"It _was_ our ride out of here," Steve exhales in frustration.

 

Barnes' eyes widen as they look at the mangled box. "Fuck," he curses.

 

"You said it," Steve agrees. He puts the broken transponder back in one pocket. "Looks like we're getting outta here the long way." Flipping the compass open, he finds northwest.

 

"Come on," he urges Barnes, "the others will be waiting for us out that way." Pausing for a quick glance to make sure their path is clear, Steve takes off through the compound with Barnes shadowing as quickly as he can.

 

The closer they get to the gates, the more soldiers they come across. Steve lends a hand when he finds the Japanese man from the cages -- Morita, he tells Steve --fighting off two, and he joins their little squad on the way out.

 

Steve's never fought side-by-side with anyone before, so he wonders if it's normal to work so well with men he's never met. With Morita, and especially, with Barnes.

 

They instinctively go back-to-back, each protecting the other's six. Barnes lays cover fire for the other soldiers, picking off any remaining HYDRA soldiers with deadly ease. Given the stolen rifle doesn't have a sight on it, the fact that Barnes is so accurate to the point of never wasting a shot is very impressive.

 

Steve looks back at the factory. While he will credit the prisoners for a respectable amount of damage, the level of destruction the facility has suffered is more than anything they could've done. Schmidt must have activated some sort of self-destruct mechanism to try and prevent his work falling into the hands of the enemy. It only makes Steve wonder what Schmidt's hiding. Maybe they'll never find out, as the remains of the factory will still be behind enemy lines and not able to be revisited.

 

Although Steve managed to steal a little bit of HYDRA tech, he can't help but feel that, at least this time, Schmidt is burying his secrets.

 

Along with all the evidence of what Zola has put Barnes through.

 

A tank barrels through the compound, and Steve jumps back until he realises the large calibre cannon on the top is systematically taking out what's left of the HYDRA soldiers who haven't already fled, as well as parts of the factory. The hatch flips open and Jones pops his head out.

 

Barnes whoops in victory, drawing Jones' attention. His eyes widen and he points, before sinking down into the tank once again. The tank stops moving, before a new head replaces Jones.

 

A familiar bowler hat comes into view, and Dugan smiles for the first time that Steve has seen.

 

"Nice work, Cap!" he calls out, moustache twitching. "What do you need us to do?"

 

Steve thinks about what Barnes been doing, and adds scale to the task. "Can you lay out cover fire and pick off the stragglers so we can get through the gates and past the tree line? " Steve shouts back, clocking a HYDRA soldier who'd run up to him.

 

"Easy," Dugan replies, sinking back down into the tank and closing the hatch.

 

The tank begins moving again, taking out more and more enemy jeeps, even ploughing right over two HYDRA soldiers that aren't quick enough to get out of its way.

 

Steve and Barnes keep close to the tank, picking up rescued soldiers as they get closer to the barricades. As it turns out, the tank proves useful once again when it smashes right through the boundary fences. It continues forward to reach a safe distance away from the fiery remains of the factory. There's still too much ammunition yet unexploded to safely stay too close.

 

Dugan pops out of the hatch once again and lifts his bowler up with his thumb slightly as he observes the burning factory. Steve, Barnes, and the nearby soldiers jog over to tank.

 

"A merry little blaze," Dugan comments with cheer, jumping out of the tank.

 

"Sight anymore hostiles?" Steve asks immediately, scanning the area.

 

"Na. Chicken shits put up a brief fight then most abandoned their posts once the explosions started." Dugan turns to face Barnes. They give each other a scrutinising eye for a moment, before the large man pulls Barnes into a crushing hug. "Good t'see you in one piece, Jimmy."

 

Steve sees Barnes close his eyes briefly for a moment, a smile gracing his features that lessens the frown on his brow, making him seem a lot younger. "I _told_ you, Dum Dum, call me Bucky."

 

_Call me Bucky._

The words call Steve back to the kiss in the laboratory, how plush Bucky's-- _Barnes'_ \-- lips are, how much Steve liked the brush of stubble against his jaw, and large, calloused fingers threaded through the hair beneath his helmet at the nape of his neck. A shudder goes down Steve's spine.

 

"So you did," Dugan's voice snaps Steve back to attention, the Corporal's answer as though he's appeasing a child, but still a respectful deference to Barnes' rank. Dugan turns his eyes to Steve. "Maybe all those comic books are true, then," he says. With a snappy salute, he pays deference to Steve's 'rank'. "Dum Dum Dugan, 69th Infantry Regiment, US Army."

 

"'Dum Dum'?" Steve repeats, mystified.

 

"Long story," Dugan says.

 

"Not really," Jones says in a mirthful tone. "He really is that stupid." Dugan punches Jones in the arm, but the comment doesn't seem to upset the Corporal at all.

 

The Allied soldiers are slowly gathering around Steve, though he finds himself in the direct presence once again, of the men he first met when breaking into the factory. They introduce themselves one by one, and Steve is gladder than he can say that they all got out of the facility in one piece: Gabe Jones, 92nd Infantry, Jim Morita, 442nd Infantry, Jacques Dernier, member of the French Resistance, James Montgomery Falsworth, 3rdIndependent Parachute Brigade, and of course, James "Bucky" Barnes, 107th Infantry.

 

While Steve is subject to a fair bit of attention, the return of Barnes sees a fair share of relieved back-slapping, particularly from the remaining members of the 107th. Steve watches for the moments where Barnes looks genuinely happy to see his compatriots.

 

"So, Cap," Dugan says, luring Steve's gaze away from Barnes. "Do you have an exit strategy?"

 

The question draws the attention of the nearby soldiers, who listen attentively. Steve frowns in concentration. "The Allied base is thirty-five miles from our current location, and at least thirty of that is enemy territory. Unfortunately my transponder broke during the escape, so we're on our own."

 

"Don't you have back-up waiting to rendezvous with?" Jones queries. "They cant've just sent one man to save all our sorry asses."

 

Steve winces. "They didn't. My mission here was... unauthorised."

 

The statement is met with silence.

 

"So you just took it upon yourself to dive into enemy territory on the chance you could break us out of a labour camp?"

 

Steve gives a one-shouldered shrug, trying for nonchalant. "It worked, didn't it?"

 

There's a very pregnant silence where Steve just feels the eyes of the men bore into him, before finally someone says something. Dugan slaps him on the back. "You're fucking crazy. I like you."

 

"That still leaves us with the slight quandary as to how to return to Italy," Falsworth muses.

 

Steve feels in the same pocket as his compass, for a piece of paper folded into quarters, slightly scorched from its adventures close to fire. It is a map of their area with the most up-to-date information on current borders Peggy could outfit him with. Morita produces a lighter and illuminates the paper, and the soldiers all crowd around it.

 

"For the most part, it's due south-west back to the base," Steve says. He points to the land directly below Kreischberg, where they are now, "except for the first ten miles or so, which are south to avoid the mountain ranges.

 

"Best case scenario, it'll take us fifteen minutes to traverse a mile. But that doesn't take into account sick or injured men who might not be able to keep pace." Steve doesn't mean to, but his eyes briefly flick to Barnes, who glares at him. With a cough, Steve continues. "But the sooner we get away from this place, the better. My suggestion is that we kit out to leave in thirty minutes."

 

There was murmured agreement from the gathered men.

 

"If we march, we'll need supplies," Morita murmured. "Food, blankets, medical, weapons."

 

"Round up some men and raid as many of the remaining vehicles in the factory yard as possible to see if there's anything useful, but leave the factory itself," Steve instructs, briefly glancing back at the flaming building. "Who knows if Schmidt left any more booby traps or triggers; I don't want anyone else risking their lives trying to go back in there."

 

Morita grins wryly. "Trust me, I'm in _no_ hurry to go back in that place."

 

"While you're at it, find someone who can hotwire a truck. Not only will we be able to carry supplies without overloading the men, but anyone not in a state to walk can ride instead."

 

"That'd be me," Barnes volunteers, a wicked smirk curling his lips, and Steve's breath catches in his throat for a brief moment.

 

"And here I was thinking you was a boy scout, Sarge," Jones grinned and Barnes cocked his head to the side.

 

"Lemme tell you something, Jones," Barnes' voice drops to conspiratorial tones. A stage whisper. As he talks, his eyes flick to Steve: "I was _never_ a boy scout."

 

There's a moment suspended in time, where they make eye contact. Barnes frowns a little before breaking the moment with a slap to Jones' back. "Come on, pal. Let's see what we can find."

 

They both leave, but not before Barnes flicks another quick glance at Steve over his shoulder.

 

"I'll see to the acquisition of weapons and ammunition," Falsworth volunteers, and Steve is once again jolted out of distraction to the present.

 

"Good idea."

 

"Let's go rustle up some recruits," Morita suggests, and Steve can't help but find the picture of the Japanese man, accompanied by the Englishman and Frenchman slightly funny. Like it should've been the start of some sort of silly joke.

 

He turns to Dugan who is watching him with a shrewd eye.

 

"Corporal?" he queries, summoning a modicum of his Captain America stage persona, though he's not sure how much it holds up against a real, battle-hardened soldier.

 

Dugan stays silent for a moment, before he gives Steve a tired smile. "I don't know what you had to go through to get Barnes out of there, but thank you. Just having him around will really get the 107th lads moving. Hell, I'm surprised he's even _standing._ Haven't heard him cough once."

 

Steve shifts from foot to foot, recalling their brief conversation at the cages. "Falsworth said something about him having pneumonia?"

 

Steve has had experience with many illnesses, but pneumonia was one he was acquainted with quite intimately. He nearly died from a particularly bad case in the winter of '33.

 

Dugan nods gruffly. "Near as I can tell, he already had it when captured. And you saw the squalor they kept us in; didn't exactly help." The cages were cold and damp, and were barely inhabitable to the healthy men, let alone a sick one. Steve murmurs in agreement.

 

"They put him to work straight away, like the rest of us," Dugan continues, "but he was in no state for hard labour. Copped a beating from the CO of the factory when he couldn't keep up, even though one of his own underlings said Barnes wasn't fit enough. Busted some ribs and got a few good knocks to his head, too."

 

Anger that had begun to simmer at the thought of the hardships Barnes had already gone through, compounded by the abuse he'd suffered, begins boiling over into white-hot fury.

 

"Where's the CO now?" Steve asks, rather calmly given the circumstances.

 

Dugan's moustache twitches. "He had a little accident. With a crane."

 

"Good," Steve very nearly spits.

 

The little smirk that Dugan had cultivated fades. "Didn't do him much good, though. That HYDRA toad with the glasses was always trawling the cages, looking for lab rats. He picked Barnes up a couple of weeks ago, and we didn't see him after that."

 

Steve's lips tighten once again at the memory of Barnes strapped to the gurney, half out of his mind in his delirium.

 

"Zola?"

 

"That's the one. I figured he must still be alive, though. That's why I sent you after him."

 

"How could you be sure?" Steve asks.

 

"Because Zola used to come back every few days. His subjects didn't seem to last long, y'see. I figured when it had been a couple of weeks, Barnes mustn't be pushing daisies just yet." If possible, Dugan grows even more serious. "Wasn't sure what state he'd be found in, though, but I'm glad it's upright. Thought maybe... maybe someone would have to put him out of his misery."

 

The thought sends icy chills down Steve's spine. He can't think about what he might've found; Barnes is whole, Barnes is safe.

 

"I don't think he has pneumonia anymore," Steve comments quietly. "We ran a lot, and while he seemed tired, he didn't cough or gasp for breath."

 

"Maybe the Krauts discovered the cure and gave it to him. Ain't that nice of them."

 

"Maybe," Steve murmurs, thinking of the track marks on the inside of Barnes' elbow. Who knows what Zola had been doing at Schmidt's behest? Steve's sure Barnes is bearing ill effects from his time kept there, but what they are remains to be seen.

 

Dugan gives Steve an appraising glance before clapping him on the shoulder, abruptly tabling Steve's darker thoughts for another time. "Well, I'm off to see if any of these trucks have a secret stash of Porterhouse steak. Want to help?"

 

Steve musters up a small smile, all lips, no teeth. "Lead the way, Corporal."

 

Dugan scoffs. "You'd better start calling me 'Dum Dum', or things are gonna get awkward real fast..."

 

***  
  
Steve starts to think of Dugan, Falsworth, Morita, Jones, Dernier and Barnes as his 'team'. They're the ones that are always close by, taking his orders to the rest of the soldiers. Between the seven of them, they find a truck half-full of the Nazi equivalent of K-Rations, a few half-stocked med kits and a pile of blankets. There aren't enough to give one a man, but Steve knows this journey won't be the first time these men have huddled together for warmth.

 

Steve also finds a medic named Spinelli amongst the soldiers, and they do a quick assessment of the men, finding the ones that won't be able to march. There are some that sustained injuries during the escape, still others in poor health or a bad way from their time captured.

 

Within the thirty-minute deadline for departure, Barnes is able to hotwire three HYDRA trucks. Combined with the tank that Dugan and Jones commandeered, there are enough vehicles for the soldiers in weaker states to ride on, though the majority will still be walking.

 

Jones does a headcount before they set off, making sure everyone is present and accounted for. The injured are loaded onto the vehicles, and weapons distributed to those who are marching on the perimeters.

 

Steve leads the team with his compass, Dugan and Falsworth flanking him. A few other men, armed with stolen HYDRA energy weapons guard their flanks. The appropriated tank rolls behind them, as do the trucks in one long line, like a convoy.

 

The mood of the men is sombre, but determined. They are more than happy to be free of labour in the factory, but they're not safe by a long shot just yet. Steve sets a fairly swift pace, but after the first hour, he lets Falsworth lead, whilst he and Dugan cycle back and check in with the marching men.

 

Some who are flagging find a spot to squeeze in on one of the jeeps, or on the tank. Steve ends up patting a lot of shoulders and giving a lot of encouraging smiles.

 

The one thing that buzzes in the back of Steve's mind is the whereabouts of Barnes. He hasn't seen the man since just before they began their march, but Jones' headcount would've let him know if he'd suddenly gone missing.

 

For the most part, the men march in exhausted silence, too tired to say much of anything to one another. The vehicles make enough noise without adding voices to give their position away, which is why a quiet conversation from the tray of one of the trucks catches his attention.

 

Steve adjusts the direction he's walking in slightly to move closer to the truck, concentrating on capturing the words being spoken rather than indistinct murmuring.

 

"--got a little brother and sister, ya know? They're counting on me," one voice says, sounding impossibly young.

 

"Tell me about it," is the reply, and Steve doesn't know if it's good or embarrassing that he recognises Barnes' voice immediately. " I've got three little sisters at home, all yammering for me to bring 'em back a souvenir from the front."

 

The younger voice gives a little laugh that dissolves into a cough. Steve changes direction once again so he has a clear sightline into the back canopy of the truck. There's a young man with sandy-coloured hair that can't be over nineteen, sitting with one leg propped up in front of him. It's hard to see in the dim light, but Steve notices how his pant leg is torn, and dark blood stains the edges. 

 

"I mean, what am I supposed to send 'em? A grenade pin? A few pounds of the glorious I-talian mud? A lighter I pilfered off a dead Kraut?" Barnes continues, and the young man he's sat next to grins wide.

 

"What do you tell them, Sarge?" the young man asks eagerly, and Steve can see the hero worship on his face when he looks at Barnes, clear as day.

 

Barnes shrugs, hunkering down a little. "I tell 'em I'll try and pick 'em up something lacy if I ever get that furlough in Paris we were promised."

 

The young soldier looks out of the truck, gaze falling on Steve, and Steve hopes he looks casual enough that he doesn't appear to be eavesdropping -- even though he _is._

 

"What about you, Captain?" the young man asks, and Barnes' attention immediately snaps to Steve. He straightens up, and it calls to mind some kind of animal at a watering hole that's just been disturbed. His expression is wary and guarded.

 

"What about me, Private...?"

 

"Tully, sir," he answers.

 

Steve flashes him an encouraging smile, though Barnes never leaves his peripheral vision. "What did you want to know, Private Tully?"

 

"D'you have anyone waiting for you back home? Family? A sweetheart?"

 

The question catches Steve off-guard, enough that he knocks one boot against the other and his stride falls out of rhythm for a few brief moments. He tries for a smile, but it's hard thinking of a tiny, empty apartment in Brooklyn.

 

"Not anymore," Steve says, as lightly as he possibly can. "And I wasn't all that popular with the dames back home."

 

Steve receives twin looks of disbelief, with Barnes giving an inelegant snort.

 

"I find that a little hard to believe," Tully answers, before adding a belated, "Sir."

 

Steve chuckles. "It's true. The army sort of made me..." he cocks his head to the side. The serum, as far as he is aware, is still highly classified. "Flourish," Steve decides on.

 

Tully gives him a grin, and Barnes rolls his eyes.

 

Steve nods towards the Private's injury. "What did you do there, Tully?"

 

Tully looks down at his leg, pulling the torn material away from it slightly. Underneath the pant leg is a bandage with a few dark spots on it. "Nazi knocked me over into some twisted metal, cut me up pretty good. I tried walking but it keeps opening up. Doc Spinelli says I need to keep still, and I'll be good as new once we get back to base."

 

Steve gives him an encouraging nod, and Tully beams back at him.

 

The Sergeant touches Tully on the shoulder and squeezes. "Try and get some rest, kid. I'll be back to check on you later."

 

Shouldering his stolen rifle, Barnes jumps off the tray of the truck and falls into step quickly with Steve. They change trajectory slightly to get out of sight of Tully, and move marginally away from other walking soldiers.

 

But despite walking together, the silence between them is pressing, and slightly awkward.

 

There's a particular grimness to Barnes' face he hasn't seen before, not that he's known the man all that long. There's a line between his brows that Steve first saw while Tully was talking about his leg.

 

"How's Tully doing? Really?" Steve asks, _sotto voce_.

 

Barnes' expression betrays slight surprise, before the frown returns. "Leg wound is pretty jagged and ripped. He's lost a bit of blood, but Doc's more worried about him getting an infection, or lockjaw."

 

Steve frowns now. "Is there anything Spinelli can do?"

 

Barnes gives one shoulder a shrug. "HYDRA kit was a lot more skint than our field med kits: Some bandages, scissors, safety pins, tourniquet, only two iodine swabs that Spinelli had already used before he got to Tully. He needs antiseptic, pain relief, a blood transfusion, and a vaccine, in no particular order."

 

Steve feels a strong pang of familiarity at the list, knowing all too well what it's like to require so much medical treatment.

 

"Well, at least he's got you looking out for him," Steve comments in an attempt to be reassuring.

 

Barnes rubs his nose with the back of his wrist. "He's a good kid," is all he says in response.

 

They walk in silence for a while longer. Steve's stride is longer than Barnes', yet he notices how the Sergeant never actually falls behind when they walk; he pushes himself just that little bit further every step to keep up.

 

"You really don't have a sweetheart waiting for you back home?" Barnes asks quietly out of the blue, pulling Steve from his reverie.  

 

Steve glances at Barnes out of the corner of his eye, but doesn't turn fully. The question takes him a little by surprise, but he supposes it's not that unusual a thing to ask. Thinking for a moment, Steve composes his answer. "Nope. Grew up short and skinny for the most part. I was a bit of a late bloomer. And then I joined the Army."

 

"Huh," Barnes says, as if processing the information.

 

"What about you?" Steve asks. "Handsome guy like you must have dames lining up for days--" He stops talking abruptly when he realises what he's said, eyes widening. "That is. I mean. I--" Steve stammers, looking towards Barnes.

 

The Sergeant gives him a bit of a grin; similar to the one he gave when professing to never having been a Boy Scout, the one that made Steve's toes curl. "Don't burst a blood vessel, _Cap_ ," he says, managing to imbue the title with more than a touch of sarcasm. Still, it's enough for Steve to know his slip is just that; a slip.

 

"In answer to your question," he continues, choosing to bypass Steve's stammering, "few girls back home, but no-one serious. Only ones I really need worry about are my sisters and my ma."

 

They walk a little further, dry and brittle leaves crunching beneath their feet. Barnes' words resonate with him, touching on a subject he'd buried for a number of years.

 

"My ma passed away when I was nineteen," Steve says, eyes directly ahead. He can't bring himself to look at Barnes, and if truth be told, he's not even really sure why he's mentioning this.

 

There's a pause before Barnes answers. "I'm sorry to hear that," he says, and this time there's no trace of sarcasm.

 

"Thanks," Steve replies. They walk together in silence once more after that.

 

***

 

They march for about ten miles, which takes them the better part of three hours. It's a decent pace, considering many of the soldiers are fatigued. There's a certain amount of adrenalin that keeps them going, but even that can't carry them all the way through the night.

 

Just before they leave the cover of the mountain ranges, Steve stops the convoy so they can bivouac for the night. Dugan, Barnes, and Jones stand with him.

 

"It's near 0200 now. Some of the men are slowing down. If we stop here for a short period and get some rest, it should be enough to bolster them to get back to base."

 

"How long for?" Jones asks.

 

Steve pauses, doing some calculations. "Four hours. We're up and packed again to leave by 0600."

 

Dugan scratches his chin. "Okay. Do we have sentries?"

 

"We'll have two shifts of two hours each, excluding the sick and the injured; those men can bunk down in their trucks or the tank for the entire four hours. We can divvy up the rations and the blankets, but no fires. I don't want anything alerting the Germans to our position."

 

The murmur of assent at his plan gives Steve a little thrill, but he stamps down on it. "So, any volunteers for first watch with me?"

 

Dugan, Jones and -- surprisingly -- Barnes all nod their heads. Dugan and Steve both frown at Barnes, who looks affronted at their scrutiny.

 

"Sure you don't want to take first shift of sleep, Sarge?" Dugan suggests. "I'll wake you at 0400."

 

Barnes grins, but there's no humour behind it. "No, you won't. You'll try and be a helpful bastard and it'll 'accidentally' slip your mind. At least if I take first watch, you won't conveniently forget to wake me."

 

Dugan chuckles, and holds his hands up in surrender. "Y'got me there. Okay, first watch it is."

 

Dugan taps Jones on the shoulder and they step away to begin preparations for the night, leaving Steve and a belligerent-looking Barnes alone.

 

Steve is pretty sure he knows the answer and subsequent reaction he's going to get, but he has to ask.

 

"Are you sure you don't want four hours of sleep? Nobody would think less of you if you did."

 

The muscles work under Barnes' jaw, and his eyes flash with indignation. "You saying I can't pull my own weight?"

 

"Not at all," Steve says, his voice low and as calm as he can make it. "It's just that you've been through a lot, and we've still got a long way to go. A few extra hours of sleep might help you get through it."

 

Barnes sighs and looks tired. Physically, yes, but this tired seems to come more from his heart than his body. "I can't. I have to make sure my guys are okay. I know there are plenty of people here who can do it--" he says, continuing quickly when Steve opens his mouth to interrupt, "--but it's got to be me. Half our company is made up of kids barely out of diapers, like Tully. They've seen a lot, but they're still _kids_."

 

He stops speaking for a moment, and looks out to where the rescued soldiers are beginning to bunk down for the night. "We lost a lot of men at Azzano, including all our officers. Lost even more men at the factory because HYDRA was working us to death. I'm the highest rank in the 107th left, it has to be me to make sure they're okay." Barnes brings his gaze back to Steve, then. "Do you understand? It has to be _me_." There's emotion in his voice, but also an undercurrent of strength, that brooks absolutely no argument.

 

Steve is completely arrested by the moonlight catching in Barnes' pale irises, the way it highlights prominent cheekbones, the curve of his bottom lip, the dimple in his chin. Pressing his lips together unconsciously, Steve nearly forgets to answer, and Barnes begins frowning.

 

"Is there anything I can do to help you?" Steve asks when he remembers how to form words.

 

"Don't get in my way," Barnes hits back immediately, although the gravity has fallen from his features a little, and Steve detects a faint smile curving the corner of his mouth.

 

"You're kind of a bossy jerk." Steve shakes his head, though there's plenty of humour in his tone.

 

"Takes one to know one, pal," Barnes grins a little more, eyes crinkling at the corners.

 

Steve tries not to notice. Instead, he clears his throat and gestures towards their makeshift camp. "So... where to first?"

 

***  
  


Steve and Barnes whip around and make sure all the men not on first watch are suitably bunking down for the night. Most of them sleep in pairs, back to back, with a blanket over them. Most have also thankfully fallen immediately into an exhausted slumber.

 

Listening to Barnes talk to his men, Steve envies him. He has a rapport with them based on shared experience and mutual respect. While Steve has gone a long way to proving he should be in the Army, the 'Captain' moniker still feels fake.

 

There is no doubt in his mind Barnes has earnt every stripe on his arm.

 

When that's done, Steve is able to procure a few of the HYDRA ration bars for himself and Barnes. Barnes gives Steve a sidelong glance.

 

"You eaten these yet?" he asks.

 

"No. What can I expect?"

 

Barnes screws up his nose. "Shit makes K-Rations seem like rib-eye. Also expect it to sit in your stomach like a cinder block for the next two hours."

 

Despite that, Steve's stomach is gurgling unhappily at its empty state. He gives a helpless shrug, peels back the wrapping and takes a bite. It's tough, and takes a fair bit of effort just to bite through it.

 

Screwing up his face, Steve resists the urge to spit the food out, knowing he needs it no matter what it tastes like. His face must be pretty funny, however, because Barnes starts chuckling and can't seem to stop.

 

"Sorry... sorry," Barnes apologises, looking in no way apologetic.

 

Steve chews like he has peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth. "If your laughing brings HYDRA to us, I'm going to die hungry and blaming you."

 

Barnes shrugs. "You can always throw one of these bars at 'em. It's hard enough to concuss a few stormtroopers."

 

Then Steve starts chuckling, which sets Barnes off again. It's a moment where Steve feels privileged to have made the near-perpetual frown on Barnes' face disappear for a few moments. The laughter fades into a silence that is the most companionable it's been in the short time they've known one another.

 

So of course, Steve has to break it, when he hands Barnes a blanket. "It's nearly 0400. You've done your two hours, time to get a bit of shut-eye."

 

Barnes looks ready to protest, but instead, yawns. He looks embarrassed and annoyed that he has given away his exhaustion. "Okay," he says in a resigned voice.

 

Instead of setting up near any of the other men, Barnes takes his blanket a little further out -- though still within the confines of their makeshift camp -- and lays it under a tree.

 

Instead of lying down, Barnes stares dumbly at it for a few moments, before shooting a quick glance at Steve over his shoulder. "I don't know if I _can_ sleep," he says quietly, and Steve knows immediately he's not being difficult. There is a touch of genuine fear in his tone.

 

"You seem tired enough," Steve gently encourages.

 

Barnes gives a humourless laugh, so very different to the laugh they shared about the rations. It's cold and brittle, and makes Steve's spine shudder. "Tired ain't the problem."

 

He sits, but doesn't look remotely relaxed. Instead, Barnes puts his knees up and wraps his arms around them, resting his chin there.

 

Steve pauses for a moment before gesturing to the patch of dirt besides the blanket. "Do you mind?"

 

Barnes blinks slowly at Steve, before giving a shrug. "Knock yourself out."

 

Steve sits, knees also bent but splayed in front of him, and rests his elbows on them. "How are you feeling?" he asks seriously.

 

"Just peachy, thanks for asking," Barnes responds in a deadpan tone. Steve shakes his head and lets out a sigh. Barnes side-eyes him. "What?" 

 

Steve affects a shrug. "Just wondering what you'd say in response if one of _your_ guys was giving you bullshit answers like that one."

 

Barnes' eyes widen in surprise, before narrowing. "What, so I'm _your guy_ now, _Captain_?"

 

He probably doesn't mean it, but the words come out charged with the kind of tension that settles low in Steve's stomach, twisting it in a knot. Barnes seems to notice this as well -- belatedly -- and he squirms uncomfortably for a moment, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

 

Steve takes a deep, calming breath before he answers. "Just like you feel responsible for your men from the 107th, seeing as I instigated the escape, I feel responsible for _all_ of you." His jaw twitches as he makes some unpleasant connections. "In fact, anyone who's already been injured or died since I broke you out... that's on _me_. Not anyone else." Steve swallows the lump that suddenly forms in his throat.

 

Barnes' face softens around the edges a little. He drops his eyes to the ground and sighs. "That's bullshit," he says presently. "We were all going to die in that place, one way or another. The men who didn't make it... they at least got the chance to go out fighting." Barnes turns back to look at Steve directly, fiercely. "You saved us, Steve."

 

Steve baulks for a moment, because it's the first time Barnes has used his name since his rescue from the laboratory. His cheeks feel hot, but it's possibly too dark for Barnes to tell if they're pink or not. Barnes seems to realise this as well, and he looks away again quickly.  
  


"That is to say, Captain Rogers," he corrects himself belatedly.

 

Steve can't help a mild chuckle. "If the choices are you calling me 'Captain Rogers' or 'fucking punk', I'd just as soon you call me 'Steve'," he says.

 

Barnes' lips twitch minutely. "What about 'Captain America'?" and his laugh curls Steve's toes when Steve screws up his face like he's eating a HYDRA ration bar again.

 

"My choice is still 'Steve'," he reiterates.

 

"Steve." Barnes says his name like he's tasting it, mulling over whether it's a delicacy to his liking or not.

 

Steve inexplicably hopes he _does_ like it.

 

"So," Steve says, clearing his throat, "to go back to my earlier question -- and I really _would_ appreciate a slightly more detailed response -- how are you feeling?"

 

Barnes gives him a half-hearted glare this time, rather than deadpan snark or righteous indignation. "I'm-- fuck, I don't know. I'm exhausted, but I don't want to close my eyes. My body's tired, but feels like I could walk the rest of the way now. Head's simultaneously buzzing and too quiet. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

 

The last line is probably meant to be combative, but it comes out worryingly small.

 

"It's a start," Steve says gently. He thinks back to his earlier conversation with Dugan. "Dum Dum said you had pneumonia when you were captured," he ventures.

 

Barnes gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Near as I can tell. Spinelli wasn't allowed anywhere near me to call it, but seems like. Vomiting, fever... Jones said I woke him up fitting one night, and he kept me from swallowing my tongue," Barnes frowns, "but I don't really remember that."

 

Steve winces in sympathy. "That definitely sounds like pneumonia." He pauses for a few moments. "Broken ribs, too?" 

 

"Don't know. Sure felt broken, but maybe they were just bruised up bad." He presses fingers into his sides firmly. "I figure if they were busted, this'd hurt, right?"

 

Steve nods mutely. "Probably." Maybe his ribs were just bruised and they had a chance to heal, but that still doesn't explain how Barnes has recovered from a bout of pneumonia in the conditions he was being held in, and tells him so.

 

Barnes sounds frustrated, but for once, that frustration isn't directed at Steve. "I don't know what to tell you, except I got to play pincushion to a little Nazi prick who injected me with God-knows-what."

 

Steve doesn't want to, but he has to ask. Not just for Barnes, but because he knows once they reach the base again, he's going to be debriefed vigorously and at length by Phillips. He might be served well by getting his words straight while they're still fresh, relatively speaking.

 

"I know it's tough, but is there anything you remember from your time there? Any clue as to what he was doing to you?"

 

The silence between them stretches long and taut. Lines of grief and pain are etched on Barnes' face as he stares almost unseeing at the air in front of him.

 

Steve waits and waits for an answer, but Barnes offers nothing, staying frighteningly motionless.

 

He's just about given up on Barnes answering him, when a soft voice shatters the silence.

 

"It was cold at first," Barnes says faintly. When Steve raises an eyebrow, he elaborates. "What they injected me with. Cold first, and then searing heat. Like fire burning right through my veins. First time I near tore my shoulder out of its socket thrashing, because they had me restrained." He cringes, back shuddering at the memory. But after a moment, Barnes collects himself and keeps going.

 

"It _hurt_. Do you know, it hurt so _much._ Half the time I was hysterical with pain, the other half, seeing things that weren't there.

 

"I lost count of how many times I imagined how I was going to get out of there, imagined my own rescue, only to wake up on that table every single time, a needle sticking out of my arm, and that fucking toad asking me to describe how I felt while he wrote down the results."

 

Barnes falls into silence, and Steve wants to speak, to offer words of comfort or reassurance, but it doesn't feel like the story is finished just yet. With the horrors of Barnes' incarceration coming out in staccato bursts, Steve worries any interruption might break the spell and cause the Sergeant to clam up, and so he stays taciturn.

 

Barnes links his fingers together and grips them tight, the tendons standing out in relief, knuckles going white. "Got to the point where I wished he would inject me with the shit that spun me out, because the things I dreamt up were better than facing reality." His voice tapers off at the end, into a hushed whisper.

 

The truth of Barnes' words slowly sinks in. And yeah, it explains everything about what happened when Steve first came across him, explains the blissful smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes...

 

The kiss.

 

He feels heat suffuse his cheeks once again. Along with the fluttering of his stomach, comes the realisation that Barnes probably had no idea what he was doing. Half out of his mind on drugs, he probably wouldn't do it again, either.

 

"So that's why you, ah..." he mumbles out unintentionally, and Barnes snaps his gaze to Steve sharply.

 

"You ain't gonna blue ticket me, are you?" Barnes' voice is mostly even, though a telltale waver of panic gives away his very real distress. "Because I was half-way out of my mind, and--"

 

"It's okay," Steve cuts him off to stem the anxious babble. "I understand. What happened stays just between us."

 

The words make Barnes' shoulders relax as the man slumps a bit further, like a marionette with its strings cut. "Thank you," he says quietly.

 

"Besides," Steve continues, "they'd probably blue ticket me for that, too."

 

"No way in hell," Barnes says vehemently. "If they tried, I'd-- I'd tell them it was all me on the drugs and you had nothing to do with it. I wouldn't let them."

 

Steve is taken slightly aback at Barnes' vehemence once again, this time in his favour.

 

"Besides, you didn't even do anything," Barnes mumbles quietly, and isn't that the rub for Steve.

 

Because if circumstances weren't what they had been, if he hadn't been caught so very much by surprise...

 

... he would've _wanted_ to. Kissed him back, cradling Barnes' head in his palms, touching not just Barnes' lips, but his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his closed eyelids, the little indentation above his top lip, the dimple in his chin.

 

So lost in those imaginings, Steve misses out on the fact Barnes has started speaking again.

 

"--the worst was they never even asked me anything. I thought I was there to get interrogated for information--" Barnes' smile is completely devoid of humour, "--although I know jack shit about anything he would've been interested in. And I was a perfect little soldier. Name, rank, serial number."

 

Steve doesn't need a reminder of that chilling recitation, he thinks it's burnt into his brain.

 

"What do you think he did want?" Steve prompts gently when Barnes drifts off.

 

Barnes gives a shrug. "I think he just wanted to test his formulas on me. He said--" Barnes stops here and squeezes his eyes shut, as though trying to recall the words exactly, "--he said that he could recreate it. And that it would be better than Schmidt's, or, uh, another German name..." Barnes runs his fingers through his hair, trying to remember. "Ar... Er-something? I can't remember, I was pretty out of it."

 

All of the air gets sucked out of Steve's lungs. "Erskine?" he asks, voice tight with emotion.

 

Barnes is looking at him now, confused, wary. "Yeah, I think so," he says slowly, studying Steve carefully. Blue-grey eyes scan his face, and Steve feels like Barnes can already read every nuance. "You know him?"

 

Steve takes two deep breaths, because puzzle pieces are beginning to slot together. "Dr Erskine was smart and kind. He made me who I am today." Steve pauses for a moment, the words sticking in his throat. "HYDRA murdered him right in front of me."

 

Barnes' brow furrows in sympathy. He doesn't need to say he's sorry; it's written plainly on his face.

 

Steve thinks about what was done to him with his consent, by a man who at least cared about what happened to him, and how Barnes had been categorically denied those two things. He grimaces in disgust.

 

And Barnes isn't slow on the uptake, either. He uses the silence to think about his own situation, drawing the threads of his experiences and what Steve's said together.

 

"If you knew this doctor," Barnes says deliberately, breaking the silence, "and Zola was trying to copy him..." he looks at Steve with pale, haunted eyes, "... do you know what he did to me?"

 

Steve is a believer in doing the right thing, not just following orders. Sometimes they're one and the same, and sometimes they're not. Doing the right thing led him to rescue the men from the factory; following orders would've seen them stay there indefinitely.

 

Would've seen Barnes dead, most likely.

 

Steve turns to face his body more fully towards Barnes, spine ramrod straight. "What I'm about to tell you is classified in the highest levels of the US Army and government," he begins, which captures Barnes' unwavering attention immediately.

 

The right thing to do is to tell Barnes his story.

 

And so Steve does. He tells the Sergeant about his physical ailments, about being rejected time and time again for enlistment. He talks about meeting Erskine, and Peggy, and the procedure he underwent to inject the serum. He explains his increased abilities being wasted on the USO circuit due to Senator Brandt's caution. Barnes never interrupts, save to display an array of increasingly incredulous facial expressions as Steve moves through his story, only displaying discomfort at what Steve might consider the similarities in the details of their respective procedures.

 

Barnes takes a while to process the information, with Steve trying to helpfully fill in the gaps. "If you did have pneumonia or broken ribs? They probably healed faster if Zola got close to replicating Erskine's formula. That's my guess, anyway."

 

"But you said that Schmidt dosed himself as well," Barnes starts, and Steve nods. He looks alarmed. "Am I going to rip the skin off my face one day, too? Can you do that?"

 

"No, I can't, and no, you won't," Steve reassures, though he's not entirely sure. "Schmidt got it wrong. And anyway, Erskine said it had a lot to do with the quality of the man in the first place."

 

Privately, knowing what little he does about Barnes, seeing his bravery and selflessness and compassion in action, he knows there's not a chance the man before him will turn into the twisted creature Schmidt has become.

 

Barnes frowns. "Am I going to get all muscle-bound, too?" he asks. "I ask because I don't have a spare change of clothes if I'm gonna start busting out of what I got."

 

Steve's mood takes a delicate shift from where it'd been heading down while talking about Erskine, to somewhere else. Someplace less rooted in sadness and anger.

 

"I don't know," Steve admits. "I guess if it was going to happen it already would've? But I doubt you'd have had as far to go, like me. You're already fairly... uh... strong. I was a string bean."

 

The words tumble out without him really thinking about them too much, and Steve looks away. He doesn't want to think about them and hopes Barnes will ignore them.

 

Barnes shakes his head, a disbelieving smile on his face. "I can't believe it," he says.

 

"What, that I was small?"

 

"No, that I got saved by a goddamn USO showgirl." Barnes flashes him a tired grin, and Steve lets out an unexpected bark of laughter, which he quickly stifles. His smile, however, isn't so easily banished.

 

"I'll have you know I've knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times," Steve comments, laying the smarm on thick.

 

Barnes' shoulders shake with laughter. "Still the worst fucking rescue ever." And the grin that stretches Steve's mouth actually hurts.

 

They lapse into a comfortable silence once again, both listening to the sounds of the night, of the soft footfalls of those on watch walking around the camp.

 

Barnes gives a little yawn that he quickly stifles, but not fast enough that Steve doesn't catch it. After a moment's hesitation, he reaches out to squeeze Barnes' shoulder. "How about you try for a little sleep now?" he asks kindly.

 

Barnes looks like he might argue, but then the fight goes out of him, and he gives a stiff nod. Steve stands and feels awkward watching Barnes attempt to get settled under the blanket.

 

"I'll wake you just before 0600," he says as he backs away.

 

"Steve?" Barnes blurts out, stopping Steve in his tracks.

 

"Yeah?"

 

Barnes bites his lower lip, eyes flickering down. Steve traces the indent of those teeth in flesh with his eyes. "I may not... sleep so soundly." Barnes exhales a shuddering breath. "There's a reason I chose this spot out a bit further from the men."

 

Steve nods, it makes sense with all he's been through, but he's not quite sure what Barnes is getting at. "Will you stay close by? In case I ... I have a nightmare and wake up." His voice carries a note of embarrassment and shame, which Steve feels is completely unwarranted. "I don't want to give away our position."

 

Oh. Steve isn't sure how much of the statement is genuine concern and how much is muted fear.

 

Barnes rubs the back of his neck. "Also if I wake up, it might be good to see someone. To... to know that I'm really not in the lab anymore. That I did really escape."

 

Steve swallows the lump in his throat. "Of course," he says, and moves close again. He sits down next to Barnes, back against the tree he's next to. Barnes nods once and lies down, in a show of trust turning to face his back towards Steve.

 

With a nod that at least Barnes is trying, Steve tries to get comfortable and runs plans for the next leg of their journey through his mind.

 

***

 

Steve is dozing a little when someone touches his shoulder. He jolts awake quickly to find Morita next to him. Stretching out, Steve's neck makes a satisfying crack.

 

"What time is it?" he asks Morita, dusting the cobwebs off his brain.

 

"0530. We're starting to disassemble the camp, thought you might like to be up for it."

 

Steve pushes himself to his feet, and glances at the prone body next to him. Barnes is still sleeping, curled in on himself a little more. Flicking a glance to Morita, he stands up and rolls his shoulders. "Give me a minute, I'll meet you out there."

 

Morita nods and leaves him with no further comment. Steve's gaze trains on Barnes, who sleeps more or less peacefully and didn't stir at the low voices around him. Steve promised he'd stay, but he also really should see to the other men as well.

 

Feeling around in his pocket, Steve finds his compass. With silent movements, he places it in Barnes' eyeline, right near his curled fist. When he wakes, hopefully he'll see the little object and realise he's safe.

 

Steve heads out to join Morita. The camp is beginning to stir; some of the soldiers have woken and are packing up their own blankets, talking quietly amongst themselves. Steve helps Morita distribute a few more ration bars, and catches up with Falsworth and Dugan, who are coordinating the vehicles. They make a plan for what will probably amount to the next ten hours of marching. He then heads around camp quickly on his own, talking to other soldiers, and checks on the viability of their stolen vehicles.  

 

Reaching the truck that has Tully in the back, he jumps in under the canopy. Tully is still there, although he looks a good deal worse than when Steve saw him last; his skin is clammy and pale, sweat makes his hair stick to his face, and yet he's shivering. Spinelli is riding alongside him, holding what passes for a cold compress in their current conditions to Tully's forehead. The muscles under Steve's jaw tighten, and he can only imagine what Barnes will do when he finds out.

 

Steve looks to Spinelli questioningly, whose brows are drawn together, lips tight. The medic flicks a meaningful glance to Tully's injured leg, which looks more inflamed than ever.

 

Tully's eyes flicker open and Steve pastes a warm smile on his face. "Private Tully," he greets, "How are you feeling?"

 

"Can't complain, Cap," Tully says in a reedy voice. He tries to sit up, but Steve lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. Tully doesn't have much strength to fight it, so he settles back down again. He blinks blearily at, and then past, Steve. "Sarge with you?"

 

"Not right now, he's sleeping," Steve replies. At least, he _hopes_ Barnes is still sleeping, the man needs all the rest he can get.

 

Tully relaxes in a boneless kind of way. "Good. Good," he mumbles, "he deserves it."

 

Steve rests his chin on his bent knees, surprised once again at the level of loyalty Barnes is able to inspire. "You think a lot of him," he states.

 

"Yes, sir," Tully answers. "He's always looking out for us. When all our officers went down at Azzano, we got real disorganised. He was the one who stepped up, kept us fighting."

 

Steve taps his thumb against his lips thoughtfully. "Tell me about him," he asks, though it comes out more like an order.

 

Tully doesn't seem to bat an eye, however. "He was already a Sergeant when I was deployed with the 107th. Told me he was promoted and went through sniper training before he shipped to London, though he never bignoted himself, like other fellas might've."

 

"Sniper, huh?" It explains his brilliant marksmanship escaping the HYDRA factory, as well as the way he carries his rifle, and his general observational skills.

 

"Yes, sir, he's a crack shot. I've seen him shoot the wings off a fly from a hundred yards away."

 

Steve laughs softly.

 

"He'll tell you when you're being a dumbass, but he'll also tell you when you're doing good," Tully continues. "And I--" he stops suddenly, a dull, red flush creeping up into his cheeks.

 

"Private?" Steve asks in concern, moving the hand on Tully's shoulder in a gentle rub.

 

Tully pauses a while, breathing audible. When he finally begins speaking again, it's in a soft voice that Steve nearly has to strain to hear. "I'm from Queens. My Pa died when I was eight. I had to help my Ma raise my little brother and sister on our own. She did the best she could, but... it was hard. I wished for my Pa, or for an older brother a lot, to help out." Tully exhales. "Sarge is like both of those rolled into one. To me, and to a lot of the other guys." He meets Steve's eyes, who squirms a little. "I'm real glad you got him out."

 

Steve isn't sure what to say, but he thinks of something. "I don't know him nearly as well as you, but from the sounds of things, if I hadn't come along, he probably would've gotten _himself_ out of the jam sooner or later."

 

It's the right thing, because Tully laughs. The laugh turns into a cough, and Spinelli touches Steve's arm. Steve gets the message loud and clear.

 

"Well, I've got to be moving on. You'll be ready to depart 0600, Private?"

 

"Yessir," Tully says, giving Steve an exhausted salute.

 

"Fine. I'll come back and check on you later." He gives Tully's uninjured leg a reassuring squeeze, nods to Spinelli, and jumps out of the truck.

 

Steve checks the last truck, before making his way to the front of the convoy again. Movement from the side catches his eye, and he sees a disgustingly alert Barnes -- with bed hair, no less -- talking to a few young soldiers. He doesn't wish to disturb him, so keeps walking.

 

When Jones has finished doing his headcount once again, with all present and accounted for, they continue their trek out of enemy territory in the murky inky blue of pre-dawn.

 

Around half an hour into their continued journey, Steve feels a presence at his left elbow. He gives a sidelong glance to see Barnes has fallen in beside him. Barnes doesn't look at him directly; instead he continually scans their surroundings, stolen Hydra rifle in both hands in a state of readiness.

 

"How'd you sleep?" Steve asks presently.

 

Barnes gives a half-hearted shrug. "Pretty lousy. But," he pauses significantly, "probably the best shut-eye I've gotten in about a month."

 

Steve lifts his eyebrows. "That's good."

 

Barnes snorts. "'Good' is a relative term. My bar is set pretty fucking low right now."

 

Steve huffs out a laugh. "Here's to low expectations, then," he says, toasting an imaginary glass, and Barnes snorts again. This time, the noise is accompanied by a wry grin that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. The expression makes something tighten in Steve's chest.

 

"I nearly forgot," Barnes says suddenly, putting his hand in his ratty trouser pocket. He pulls out Steve's compass and hands it to him. "Thanks. It... it worked."

 

Steve doesn't need to ask for clarification, he just takes it, nodding. "Thanks," he says, pocketing it.

 

"Besides," Barnes adds wryly, "I thought you might need to check which direction we're going, so we're not heading straight into Germany."

 

"I actually _do_ know my ass from my elbow, despite any words to the contrary," Steve teases back, before his smile fades a little. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay until you were awake, I needed to help out with the camp."

 

"Hey, you're in charge of this dog and pony show," Barnes remarks blithely, "and I don't need a babysitter."

 

The last comment is a touch acerbic, but Steve doesn't allow himself to be baited. "I don't think you need one, either, but I don't like to break my promises."

 

Barnes gives him a searching look. "Trust me, I understand." His lips curve on one side in a grin that would've been so wicked had he not looked like he'd been through Hell and back, "What are you, the world's biggest Boy Scout?"

 

Recalling Barnes' previous comments, Steve grins ruefully. "I was never one of those, either. The nuns at the local parish had a field day with the rulers and my knuckles."

 

Barnes stifles a laugh. "Really? I find that-- no, wait, I find that very _easy_ to believe."

 

He asked where Steve grew up, having had a few run-ins the nuns from _his_ church too, which turned into them trading stories of growing up in Brooklyn. It certainly makes their trudge through enemy territory in the wee small hours feel like it goes a bit faster.

 

Some time later, after the horizon turns a dirty light blue, Dugan sidles up to them and places a large hand on Barnes' shoulder.

 

"How you doing there, Sarge?" He asks.

 

Barnes bristles slightly, but answers with more grace than Steve has come to expect. "Can't complain, Dum Dum. How're _you?_ "

 

"Fine, fine," Dugan drawls. "There's a spare seat in one of the trucks if you're getting tired, though," he mentions far too casually.

 

Barnes' brows draw together and he mutters under his breath. Dugan seems unaffected by the grumbling, blithely ignoring Barnes' murderous glare.

 

"Can you give us a minute, Dugan?" Steve asks politely, only to have Barnes turns the glare on _him._ It's certainly a sight to behold.

 

Dugan tips his hat and gives Steve a wink, before casually dropping his pace back to give them privacy.

 

Barnes mutters mutinously, the easy camaraderie of their walk so far dissolving. "If he thinks you can change my mind, you're both delu--"

 

"How much do you want them to know about your capture?" Steve asks without preamble, shocking Barnes into silence.

 

"I-- what?"

 

"What details do you want them to know?" Steve persists. He has an idea, and he's going with it, come hell or high water.

 

"Nothing," Barnes says quietly, a bleak look in his eyes. Steve hates himself a little bit for bringing this up, but there's a method to his madness. "I don't want the men to know what they did to me."

 

Steve's voice drops to quieter, more soothing tones. "You probably have increased stamina and energy now, like I do. But your men don't know that; they'll be expecting you to be tired and don't want you pushing yourself. They consider it a miracle you don't have pneumonia anymore, but beyond that, haven't given it much thought. Are they likely to get suspicious if you don't rest?"

 

Barnes huffs out a mirthless laugh. "Dugan's like a fucking bulldog. He won't let it go."

 

"So don't march all the time," Steve suggests, palm up. "Check on the men in the trucks and ride along with them for a while. You don't have to do it all the time," Steve adds when it looks like Barnes is set to argue, "but if they see you doing it enough, that'd probably count well enough in their mind as 'resting'."

 

"I s'pose," Barnes says, mulling over the prospect. "But I'm not sure abo--" he stops abruptly when Dugan runs back over to them, panting. "What now, Dum Dum?" Barnes raises an eyebrow.

 

Dugan's face contains no traces of humour. "It's Tully. He's crashing and calling for you," he puffs out.

 

Barnes flicks a wide-eyed, look to Steve for the briefest of moments, before shouldering his rifle and taking off for Tully's truck, Dugan not far behind. Steve wants to take off after them both, but there are no other men in his hastily cobbled together 'command' leading the convoy. So he stays and tries not to worry, knowing that the best man in the company is on the job. It's easier said than done.

 

***

 

Day breaks well and truly, and while the sun takes some of the bite out of the cold, it also makes their march more dangerous as they lose the cover of night. Steve assigns a few more men on the outer fringes of the soldiers as sentries, watching out for any enemy activity.

 

It comes as something of a relief that the remainder of the journey is fairly uneventful. By midday, they are back in Allied territory, and Dugan starts to recognise landmarks. There is a ripple of equal parts trepidation and excitement that goes through the men, and everyone seems to find their reserves of energy to just keep pushing that little bit further.

 

The men who Steve is mentally referring to as his 'team' -- Dugan, Falsworth, Morita, Jones and Dernier -- all form up at his shoulders to spearhead the last stretch to the Allied camp. A few miles out from where they estimate the location of their destination to be, Barnes forms up on Steve's left as they march.

 

Steve gives him a sidelong glance, noting lips firmly pressed together. "How's Tully?" He asks softly.

 

Barnes flicks a glance to him before training his gaze back to the path ahead. "Unconscious," he says, the worry palpable in his voice. "Spinelli's got him at about as good a place as he can get without the right equipment, but he needs treatment in the next few hours or..." Barnes trails off, frowning. He wrinkles his nose and swallows, pushing his emotions right down to present a sturdy front.

 

"We're nearly there," Steve reassures. "Half an hour, maybe forty minutes at best."

 

Barnes nods, and though he still looks unhappy, it seems a bit of tension releases from his shoulders.

 

Steve is the first one to spot the camp, and the ball of tension he's been carrying ever since he parachuted into enemy territory is finally released. He breathes out a sigh of relief. So much could've gone wrong, but thankfully, they've made it. He exhales a quiet 'thank you', that Dugan hears, letting out a jovial whoop in turn.

 

His enthusiasm isn't shared as completely by the rest of the men, though. The march continues, although Steve notices their pace quickens, shoulders are higher than before, thinking of blankets and hot food and clean clothes. It's not that they aren't happy to be back in safer hands, it's just that they went through Hell to get here, and they're not quite out of it yet.

 

The sentries at the camp see them and immediately fall into a defensive pose, pointing Thompsons at them.

 

Barnes and Morita in particular, get twitchy with their rifles and move to aim back, but Steve stops them. He shoulders his own HYDRA weapon and puts his hands up.

 

"Hold your fire! We're American!" he calls out.

 

Dernier says something under his breath that Steve doesn't quite catch. He raises an eyebrow at Jones, who grins.

 

"He said 'speak for yourself'," Jones translates.

 

"Not everyone's perfect, Frenchie," Dugan answers back, to more muttered French and an amused chuckle from the black man.

 

The words are at least enough to get the sentries to pause. "You have a Kraut tank!" one yells back suspiciously.

 

"That'd be because we liberated it, genius," Dugan replies, voice raised.

 

The second sentry drops his rifle a little as Steve gets closer, and is recognised. "Shit," he breathes, "it's Captain America. The whole camp's been looking for you!"

 

Steve gives a slightly wry smile. "I've been a little busy." The smile fades. "We need medics, food, water."

 

"And for you to open the gates, there's a good chap," Falsworth adds.

 

When the two men still stand there dumbfounded, Barnes narrows his eyes. " _Now_ would be good," he growls, and that is all that's needed for the soldiers to spring into action. They both push the gates open, one sprinting through the camp to notify the base. The other looks on in open-mouthed surprise as the former captives march through the gate.

 

It doesn't take much for the camp to burst into action. Suddenly there are soldiers running everywhere. Many remaining members of the 107th cheer as their comrades walk in. Some break ranks slightly to greet friends. The rest line the path into the heart of camp, cheering and clapping the returning men. Tired, worn faces of the men look just a touch less weary, and Steve is thankful for that.

 

As they get deeper into the camp, it seems the brass has been notified. Steve finds himself marching directly up to Colonel Phillips, Peggy standing at his shoulder. He doesn't dare look directly at her just yet; Phillips' grizzled presence is enough to command his entire attention. In unspoken support, his six most reliable men stay close at his shoulders, forming a wall of solidarity behind Steve.

 

But there's something that needs to be taken care of, first. "Some of these men need medical attention," Steve says. A flick of Phillips' eyes get medics moving in immediately, and Barnes' mouth twitches.

 

Steve knows what has to come next. Regardless of whether his mission was successful, he went on an unauthorised sojourn into enemy territory against explicit orders. Hell, he's not even a real Captain.

 

Squaring his shoulders, Steve looks directly at the Colonel. "I'd like to surrender myself for disciplinary action."

 

Phillips gives a tiny little cringe, and Steve wonders what that's meant to mean. "That won't be necessary," he says, before turning to Peggy and shooting her some cryptic remark about faith.

 

Peggy steps up to him. The expression on her lips is a carefully controlled small smile, but her eyes are lit with excitement and pride. He knows she must've been worried when he wasn't in contact. He knows she was probably the first suspected accomplice when he went missing. The feeling of butterflies and warmth that overtakes whenever Peggy looks at him washes over him once again.

 

"You're late," she says primly, with eyes only for Steve even as he's surrounded by hundreds of men. To be looked at as someone worthy in her eyes is an amazing feeling.

 

Steve gives her a little grin and pulls the broken transponder out of his pocket. "Couldn't call my ride," he explains. Someone else might've laughed, but Peggy just continues to give him her mysterious smile.

 

"Hey!" Barnes yells suddenly from beside him, marginally startling Steve. Steve tears his eyes away from Peggy for a moment to look at Barnes. "Let's hear it for Captain America!"

 

A fiercely cheerful roar overtakes Barnes' voice, as the soldiers both from the base and those who were with him on that long march finally allow themselves to be relieved and express their joy. Barnes gives Steve an amused little half-grin, before some of the men surge forward to thank Steve personally and Barnes melts into the crowd.

  
***  
  


Steve heads to the medical tents. The last few hours have been busier than their trek in from enemy territory.

 

He was allowed a few moments to speak to Peggy before his presence was required in Phillips' tent. The Colonel was already neck-deep in making plans for himself, Agent Carter, and the rescued soldiers with the most information about the factory to be immediately transported to London. The seriously sick and injured would go as well, in order to receive better treatment.

 

Most importantly, Phillips wanted Steve planted in that SSR War Room with any intel he can provide about Schmidt's plans and facilities.

 

And while everything has turned out for the best, Phillips makes his thoughts about any future ideas Steve might have at running off, directly defying orders, abundantly clear.

 

Somehow, Phillips was able to procure the services of a Douglas C-47 Skytrain to make the dangerous journey from their base in Italy, over treacherous airspace back to England. Their ETA and subsequent departure isn't for another four hours however, as night travel is still the safest option.

 

This leaves Steve with some time to kill.

 

He takes the opportunity to farewell the USO girls who won't be making the trip to London. It's harder than he expects to say goodbye to them; despite all odds, he'd come to enjoy their company, and considers them all friends. For all he was treated like a joke in some circles, the girls _never_ looked down on him. The respect and regard is entirely mutual.

 

He apologises in particular to a tearful Daisy for borrowing her helmet, but she doesn't seem to mind since it kept his 'thick head safe'. There are more tears and lots of hugs, and Steve has to make sure he's not covered in lipstick by the time he leaves their tent.

 

Ruthie promises to write him and send him cookies. Steve laughs and says he will enjoy eating them.

 

He's allowed a shave and a quick shower in lukewarm water to clean himself up. Peggy finds him a Captain's uniform, which he feels terrible about wearing, but she insists he can not walk around camp like he is; in half a stage costume and a shredded leather jacket. Steve puts on the uniform. It feels odd, and itches.

 

He's managed to catch up with 'his' men from the escape: Dernier, Dugan and Falsworth -- now insisting upon being called 'Monty' after their ordeal -- are in the mess hall. Morita he finds in the communications tent talking to their code breakers, while Jones helps some of the other soldiers strip the stolen HYDRA jeeps of anything interesting.

 

But there's no sign of Barnes, and none of the other men have seen him.

 

He figures, with the Sergeant's concern over his men -- Tully in particular -- perhaps Barnes is in medical. With Barnes' direct involvement in the escape, he's also on the list to head to London, though no-one's seen him to tell him this information.

 

Steve enters the tent to see dozens of prone, bandaged bodies everywhere. His stomach drops, but he pastes his USO smile on and talks to some of men -- the conscious ones, at least. It takes about fifteen minutes to work his way halfway through the room, but he hits paydirt.

 

Tully is on a stretcher, his leg bound in lengths of white bandage. He still looks pale, but Steve lays a gentle hand on his forehead. He thinks his fever's broken, and hopes that they really _did_ get back to base on time to treat the infection in his blood.

 

At the contact, Tully's eyes flutter open. They widen a little seeing Steve in a commanding Captain's uniform, and he moves to sit up in bed. Steve gently -- but firmly -- holds him down. "Take it easy, Private. You don't have to sit up."

 

Tully ceases struggling and lies back down. "Thanks, Cap. Sarge with you?"

 

"No, I haven't seen him since we arrived at camp... was he with you?" Steve fights to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

 

The Private winces a little, and it doesn't seem to be due to physical comfort of any kind. "He _was_ here. Earlier, when I was a little bit loopy, he was sitting by me. Until--" Tully stops and frowns. "--I don't remember everything, but, when the quacks were looking at me, somebody wanted to check him out, too, but he kept refusing. Then Doc Spinelli said something about the HYDRA goons holding him for a few weeks while the other docs were around. They wanted to check him out but Sarge wasn't having any of that, and he started arguing with 'em--" Tully looks up, apology on his features. "That's all I can remember. When I woke again he wasn't here."

 

A sliver of worry works into Steve's mind, though the smile never wavers on his face. He pats Tully on the leg and promises to find Barnes for him.

 

Steve stalks the medical tent until he finds one of the base doctors.

 

"Doctor, have you seen a Sergeant Barnes around? He's heading to London with me in a few hours, and I need to brief him." With any luck, that directive will take any precedence over any kind of medical examination, and Barnes can get out of it.

 

The base doctor is a tall man with ginger hair shot with grey. He has bags under his eyes and a mouth that seems to be constantly downturned. If possible, at the mention of Barnes' name, the mouth turns down a little _more_.

 

"I'm not so sure that's possible... Captain," he gives Steve's uniform rank a quick glance.

 

"Why not?" Steve asks, jaw tight.

 

"I observed some track marks on Sergeant Barnes' inner arm when he was seeing to one of his men. He refused any treatment, however one of the field medics rescued from the Austrian camp made mention of the fact he'd been incarcerated by one of their doctors for quite some time. When I insisted that he be examined, the Sergeant became quite violent."

 

Oh no. Steve's mouth goes bone-dry. In a way, this is exactly what Steve thinks Barnes was trying to avoid by not telling anyone where he'd been. Being examined by doctors, poked and prodded would feel exactly the same as being in Zola's lab. And what happens if they find anything abnormal with him? They sure as hell won't give him a choice as to whether they put him through another barrage of tests. The Army is pretty determined to corner the market on men who've been spruced up by any form of Erskine's serum. It's what led to Steve being shoved onto the USO circuit like a prized goose.

 

While Steve's brain stutters over the prospect, the doctor keeps talking. "He took out two of my orderlies and scared my nurses before he could be wrestled under control by the MP's," the man casually continued, picking up a clipboard.

 

Oh no no no _no._ Steve takes a step towards the doctor that reads as quite threatening, as the doctor immediately steps back. "Where is he now? What did you _do_?" Steve's voice takes on a thin note of strain as he resists the temptation to curl his fingers around the man's white coat and _shake_.

 

"I haven't done _anything_ save to sedate the man," the doctor answers primly.  

 

"Sedate...?" Steve looks into the panicked face of the doctor, to realise he _has_ grabbed him by the lapels of his white lab coat. "Tell me where he is right now."  
  


"Captain, your behaviour is--"

 

Steve shakes his head, and the doctor clams up. "I'd be more worried about the behaviour of a so-called doctor with no ethical qualms about forcibly sedating a rescued prisoner-of-war, after it's clear he's been through some extreme conditions. I'd be questioning the behaviour of a _medical professional_ \--" he imbues the words with as much sarcasm as he possibly can, "--who lacks empathy with a man who has clearly been suffering, and should've been handled with far more consideration. I'd be contemplating whether a little incident like this is enough to be reported to the Colonel, and have you jetting off to the Eastern front so fast, your eyes spin in their sockets."

 

Steve allows his words to sink in, and let the doctor sag in his grip. "You should be using your words to tell me where Sergeant Barnes is."

 

"This is highly irregular--" the doctor wheezes.

 

Steve's fists tighten in the lapels, pulling the doctor's lab coat more uncomfortably around the back of his neck. He's not sure, but Steve thinks he's even unwittingly lifted the doctor an inch or two off the ground, if the beads of sweat on the man's forehead are anything to go by.  

 

"Where." Steve's word doesn't sound much like a question anymore.

 

"In quarantine under guard. But--" The doctor doesn't get anything further out. Steve lets him go with a push, watching the man stumble back a little. "You can't go in there!" he yells at Steve's retreating form.

 

"Watch me," Steve replies over his shoulder.

 

The quarantine room is its own tent a short distance away from the general medical quarters. Steve recognises it immediately by the two MP's on guard outside it. They stand a little straighter as Steve approaches.

 

"Sorry, sir," the man on the left says, "no-one but Doctor Stephenson is authorised entry."

 

"I'm this man's commanding officer," Steve says with no discernable quaver at the lie in his voice as he continues to approach, "I need to see him."

 

The two men look askance at one another as Steve comes to stand directly in front of them both. "The doctor told us not to let anyone in. He's acting dangerously," the man on the right adds.

 

Steve straightens his spine to stand slightly taller than them. "And _I'm_ telling you that this man has spent weeks as a prisoner of war, only to come back and be treated like an animal. He is leaving with me at 1800 hours to go to London to be debriefed by the Colonel." Steve gives each of them a hard look. "You _are_ going to let me in unescorted, and you _are_ going to let me out with him shortly afterwards. Are we clear?"

 

Both men stand to attention, but each take a step to the side and unblock the doorway. "Crystal, sir," the first MP says.

 

Steve nods stiffly at them and enters the quarantine tent, and his stomach drops into the floor.

 

It's almost as bad as finding Barnes in Zola's lab, because now Barnes' condition is of his own Army's doing. Once again, he's strapped to a gurney in the middle of the quarantine bay, struggling fitfully. If Barnes' body has been modified like Steve's, his metabolism is probably burning through the sedatives. Likely, the Doctor Stephenson thinks he's still out.

 

But he's not, and once again, Steve approaches him to hear those awful words for a second time. The bile rises in Steve's throat, and he never, _ever_ wants to hear this again.

 

"...Sergeant... 32557038... Barnes..."

 

Steve hovers over Barnes again, ripping at the leather restraints. He pats Barnes lightly on the face. "Sergeant Barnes... come on, snap out of it."

 

Barnes' dilated eyes struggle to focus on him. When they do, he gives that drug-addled smile again. "Captain Steve," he says with a slight slur. "I had... I had a dream. I dreamt you rescued me..."

 

Steve's heart shatters. Barnes must believe his entire rescue to be another hallucination.

 

He rips off the rest of the restraints, but Barnes can't seem to get the energy to sit up.

 

"It wasn't a dream," Steve tells him leaning down to hover over Barnes' face, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. Those blue-grey eyes are so wide, full lips still curved in a slightly wicked smile. "You really are safe. It wasn't a dream, Bucky."

 

He pulls at another leather strap, snapping it viciously. The sound makes Barnes start, Steve's so close he can feel Barnes' laboured breathing against the skin of his cheek. Steve's eyes trace over the feathery dark brows, long straight nose. They curve of high cheekbones that malnutrition has only accentuated, the dip of the cupid's bow of his upper lip... Steve's thumb traces down the side of Barnes' stubbly cheek to brush against the dimple in his chin.

 

And Steve is kissing him.

 

He's not sure ultimately whether he leant down, or Barnes stretched up, only that their mouths are joined and Barnes exhales softly in a sigh.

 

Barnes' lips are soft and plump. And it's like kissing a woman, only there's the scrape of stubble against his cheek, and the more assertive pressure that the few women he's kissed have never really done.

 

Electricity zaps down Steve's spine like he's been struck by lightning, only to increase in intensity when Barnes wraps one arm around Steve's waist, the other hand to come behind his head to keep it there. Barnes' fingers grip the back of his head tightly, ruffling his hair and making him shiver.

 

The slight movement makes Barnes draw back slightly. "Steve," he says in the molasses-rich voice Steve hasn't been able to get out of his mind since they escaped the Factory.

 

Their lips meet again and this time Barnes draws his tongue lightly over Steve's bottom lip before pushing forward. Steve responds by straightening up, bringing Barnes into a sitting position, and wrapping both arms around his waist to pull Barnes flush to his body.

 

Barnes kissing him for a few heated moments more before pulling away. "Wait... wait," he says, placing fingers against Steve's lips. He presses them together, and takes in Steve's uniform, and their surroundings. "S'not a dream?"

 

"No, Bucky. You're safe," Steve says softly. He scrutinises Barnes' face. The vacancy in his expression is already giving way to his regular sharpness. He definitely must have some form of Steve's serum in his blood to be able to metabolise the cocktail of sedatives the doctor gave him. Once again, Steve marvels at the Sergeant's strength.

 

Barnes' eyes drift down to Steve's lips, and Steve can't help his tongue darting out to wet them. "The doc wanted to examine me... run tests..." he says, following the movement of Steve's tongue. "Spinelli mentioned I was captured."

 

"That's not going to happen," Steve says resolutely. "As of now, you're leaving this tent with me, and we're going to be on a plane at 1800 for debriefing in London--" He stops when Barnes gives him a slightly alarmed look "--no medical tests. Just intel gathering with any information you can provide. Dugan, Falsworth, Jones, the rest of them, they're all coming, too."

 

Steve notes they're still so very close, practically wrapped around one another, yet neither of them seem terribly worried about separating. Hell, Barnes still has his hand lightly touching Steve's face.

 

He seems to realise this and withdraws it, embarrassed.

 

"You--" Barnes starts, then stops, lowering long, dark lashes.

 

"What?" Steve asks gently, trying to meet his eyes.

 

They flick back up and bore holes right through Steve's head. "You called me 'Bucky'," he says. If Barnes were a woman, he'd describe the expression as 'coquettish', but it just doesn't fit Barnes. It can't begin to describe the sharp angle of his cheekbones, the masculinity of his square jaw. Nothing fits the way it should with Barnes, and yet somehow _everything_ slots into place anyway.

 

"That's what you prefer, right?" he asks. "I remember you telling Dum Dum."

 

"Yeah, it is," Barn-- _Bucky_ says, a tiny smile curling one corner of his mouth up.

 

They share a moment of very charged eye contact, where Steve is trying to decide whether he kiss Bucky again, just for the hell of it, but Bucky slides off the gurney and into a standing position instead. He wobbles for a moment, but Steve hasn't taken his hands away from where they rest around Bucky's waist. Now he props the Sergeant up.

 

"Think we can get outta here now? I've seen the inside of enough med wards to last a fucking lifetime."

 

"Of course." Steve takes one of Bucky's arms with a questioning glance. Bucky nods shortly, and Steve takes the permission to fling it over the back of his shoulders to lend some support. They begin making their way to the door.

 

"Did you see Tully on the way here? He doing all right?" he asks.

 

"I did. Seems to be resting up and looking a great deal better. He was asking about you." Steve pauses. "We can stop by now to check on him."

 

"Yeah, okay. But keep that doctor away from me," Bucky says, and Steve sees the shade of a man that won't allow himself to be taken a third time.

 

"He won't come near you; promise." Bucky raises an eyebrow in question, and Steve gives him a completely unapologetic look. "I may've gotten a little... upset when finding out what had happened to you." Bucky snorts out a laugh, but doesn't comment.

 

Steve's not sure what to do about the elephant in the room this time, about the kisses he's initiated that he definitely can't blame on any form of sedation or drug hallucinations. At least, on his part.

 

"Are you hungry?" Steve asks, in lieu of something else to say, and Bucky gives a stiff nod. "We should go to the mess tent after you visit Tully. Dugan and some of the others are there, you could probably do with a proper meal."

 

"Yeah," Bucky grunts. "Provided Dum Dum hasn't been there for too long; he eats like a fuckin' horse. I'll be surprised if there's any food left in camp."

 

Steve gives a soft chuckle. "He's a card, all right."

 

They all are, really. The six men are all very different, but they have each proven themselves to be useful and have their own specialties that have undoubtedly come in handy. Steve possibly could've gotten out of the factory without their help, but his odds were far greater with the men at his side.

 

The seed of an idea starts sprouting in his head, as they exit the quarantine bay. The MP's that had been guarding the door snap quickly to attention. Bucky keeps his eyes forward, and Steve lets a steely gaze travel from one MP to the other. They both don't dare look askance at either of them.

 

By the time they get back to the regular medical wing, Doctor Stephenson is nowhere to be seen, but Private Tully is exceedingly happy to see Bucky. Bucky sits at his bed for a few minutes while Steve stands quietly to the side, not wishing to intrude on their time. He simultaneously looks out for the doctor, as well as allowing his brain time to work over this crazy idea he's had; figuring out the best approach for the SSR brass... even how he's going to put it to the other rescued captives -- his erstwhile 'team'.

 

Bucky stands unaided when he's finished, giving Tully's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Not to worry, kid," he says in that Brooklyn drawl, "this ain't gonna stop you playing Short Stop for long."

 

"Here's hoping, Sarge," Tully gives him the brightest grin he can manage under the circumstances. Steve nods Tully's way and moves to assist Bucky. Bucky leans heavily into Steve's side, though Steve notes that his feet are no longer dragging on the ground. He's not actually sure that Bucky needs as much support as this, but the Sergeant seems to be happy enough to allow Steve's body pressed close to prop his up. He can't find it in him to question Bucky's decision.

 

They slowly make their way to the mess tent. Passing soldiers glance towards them briefly, but don't stop either of them from trying to reach their destination.

 

"Hey," Steve says out of the blue, "think you're still any good with a sniper rifle?"

 

Bucky gives him an incredulous look and scoffs. "I got a set of eyes and two arms, don't I?"

 

"I take that as a 'yes', then?" Steve gives a little smile.

 

Bucky returns the smile, leaning just a touch further into Steve's body. " _Yeah_ , you can take it as a 'yes'."

 

He looks into Bucky's capable, sharp eyes, and the plan coalesces more than ever before. "Come on," Steve says, pulling at the crook of Bucky's arm. "Let's meet with the other guys. I have an idea I'd like to talk to you all about."

 

"Okay, Cap," Bucky shrugs, and Steve hears the subtle jibe in the title.

 

They reach the entrance to the mess tent, and Bucky stops, sighing. "Guess I should walk in there under my own power," he hedges, though makes no attempt to move from where he's tucked into Steve's side.

 

"If you want," Steve says softly. If he's being honest with himself -- and he always _does_ try -- he's not quite ready to let Bucky go yet, though it would probably look better if he does.

 

Bucky's hand grips the back of Steve's jacket tightly, and Steve gives him a curious look. "Buck?" he queries, arching one eyebrow.

 

"'Re we ever gonna kiss when I'm not strapped to a fuckin' exam table?" he says, looking straight ahead, pointedly not addressing the question to Steve's face.

 

Steve lets the question sink in. It makes him tingle, the thought that this handsome, brave, loyal soldier would _want_ him to.

 

"I hope so, yeah," Steve answers sincerely, fingers tightening around Bucky's elbow.

 

Bucky barely risks him a glance, but Steve sees the faint impression of a smile on his lips as he stares at the door.

 

"Good," he says, before clearing his throat. "Let's get in, I'm starving. And I gather you've got a stupid-ass idea you want us to hear."

 

Bucky shoots a subtle glance over his shoulder, mouth curved in a far wickeder grin as he walks into the mess tent on his own, leaving Steve outside for a moment. Steve shakes his head slightly, before following the Sergeant in. 

**Author's Note:**

> This work has spawned a continuation! [Cause & Effect](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7283149)
> 
> There is an Azzano in Umbria, which in central Italy. This would've been close to the Allied line at the time. In 1943, the Allies only occupied the southern end of Italy, the rest being German territory. 
> 
> However, there is a place in northern Italy called Azzano Decimo, which would've been far closer to Austria and pretty much on the border of what was considered German and Italian occupied land. But that is more accurate to what the map looked like in 1944, not 1943, when Bucky is meant to be captured.
> 
> Since the Hydra factory that they were taken to is meant to be in Kreischberg, Austria, between 2 mountain ranges, I've fudged with the timeline a little. I made their battle take place in the latter Azzano, so it's closer to Austria seeing as they're walking back. 
> 
> As it is, the distances are a little fun-tastic as well. Phillips says the installation is 30 miles into Nazi occupied territory, when in reality, it's about 149miles (239km) away from Azzano Decimo, let alone what the SSR base would've been (I'm assuming a little further into the Allied line).
> 
> For the sake of the story, and the fact that Captain America's disappearance has only really just been noticed in the film when they come marching in, I'm going to suspend belief and go with the shorter distance that's in the movie.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cause & Effect](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7283149) by [Avaaricious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avaaricious/pseuds/Avaaricious)




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